To Endure
by My Dear Professor McGonagall
Summary: Ron has watched Hermione fight for all of her life to reach one moment. But when that moment finally comes, their world is stripped away in the most violent manner possible, and now Hermione must fight to stay alive. "I have the strength to endure." -The Ramones
1. Chapter 1

This is a plot bunny that came and whacked me over the head...last summer. I'm fairly certain some of you will remember this as we get into it. It has honestly taken me this long to get it even close to presentable, and a lot of that is due to the absolutely marvelous and talented **keeptheotherone**, who got this thing on its feet just last week. I am STUNNED and thrilled with the butt-kicking she gave it, so this one is for her. Her stories "Sharing Life Together," "Consequences," and "Auror Take Two" spurred me to finish and clean this story up for the rest of you. :) Short form: she's the best, people.

THANKS, KTOO!

* * *

30 March 2029

"Go on, Hermione, you'll be brilliant," said Ron, smiling at her. Hermione finished cleaning her spectacles, perched them on her nose and flashed him a quick smile before hurrying to seat herself at a table in the center of the wide, round courtroom.

Ron sat back in his chair, glancing up at Harry, who was with the other heads of department, and winked. Three loud knocks on a wooden table drew the attention of the chattering crowd.

"The Wizengamot acknowledges the closing petition of Madam Hermione Jean Granger Weasley, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," boomed Kingsley Shacklebolt from the Chief Warlock's seat.

Hermione rose, placing her fingertips on the table, and looked squarely at her audience.

"Witches and warlocks of the Wizengamot, heads of department, and fellow public servants," she began loudly, looking all around the courtroom. "Our world has survived two wars that were based solely on discrimination against one other, against our own people. Half-blood resentment of pure-blood, pure-blood prejudice against Muggleborns, and I can say, proudly, that we as a community are finally moving beyond such low forms of cruelty and injustice," she paused, "to one another. From one wizard to the next. But what of those beings with whom we share our world, to whom we don't extend this newfound sense of justice? What of goblins, centaurs, merfolk; sentient beings with whom we ought to be able to live in peace?"

Hermione stepped out from behind her table, taking a walk about the round room and looking several members of the Wizengamot in the eye. "Well, for goblins, we have striven to ensure that _they, _at their own request, are given jurisdiction in their own legal, financial, and social matters. We have offices to _assist_ with any problems that may arise, and we have _finally _stopped trying to control them. For centaurs, we have done as they asked; we have left them alone. We do not ask them to be counted, herded or tagged like animals. We respect them as thinking, feeling, and independent from us. Merfolk are guaranteed similar rights. Where they do not attempt to seize power over us, we afford them the same courtesy."

She swept her eyes to Kingsley, who was watching her closely, his hands folded. "Yes. I am proud of the things I have seen happen in my career to make our world a just one. But I have one great pain. There is one thing that, for as long as I can remember, has always made me sick to my stomach. The one thing about our world, which I so love, makes me furious, even resentful of our diplomacy and policymaking. House-elves have _never_ been afforded the courtesies and justices of their magical brethren."

There was a rumble of speech among the Wizengamot that faded quickly, and Hermione surveyed her audience coolly before carrying on.

"House-elves are required to clean homes, cook meals, care for generations of families, who in turn are never asked to provide their workers with any kind of fair treatment. And yes, it _is_ in a house-elf's nature to accept this way of life. That is one of the main reasons that such old-fashioned practices as retaining multiple generations of house-elves are still in use." Her look hardened. "But that does _not _make it right."

And there was a sudden outbreak of applause. Ron glanced over at Harry, who was smiling almost imperceptibly, and then looked back to Hermione. He chuckled inwardly when he saw a twitch in the corner of her mouth. The applause died down, and she carried on.

"It is _wrong_ to assume that because a being has been bred to think in such a closed-off manner, it is happy. A house-elf is, perhaps, the only magical being whose status we, wizardkind, do not recognize. More often than not a house-elf is treated as nothing more than an appliance, a tool, something with which the housework gets done faster. Wizards have told them time and again that they are inferior, when we know very well that their magic can rival, if not overpower our own. This is wrong, and it is foolish to think that we may blindly maintain the upper hand. Now," Hermione said, her tone changing, "on the other side, we cannot undo what we have already done to the race of house-elves. We cannot suddenly snatch from them everything that makes up their lives; that is cruelty in an even lower form."

She drew a deep breath. "This piece of legislation which I have brought before you, The House-Elf Bill, as it's come to be known, will not liberate house-elves who have no wish to be free. I understand and respect—as, I hope, do you—that this is true of much of their population. However, it does provide protection and universal, basic rights. With passage of this bill, a house elf may petition for their freedom if they so choose, with the understanding that if they do, they have the right to remain as _employees_ of their families. In turn those families who have inherited house-elves will be required by law to register with the Ministry of Magic, and will be responsible for reporting their elves' status to a new task force in the Ministry dedicated solely to equalizing treatment of elves.

"Above anything else, this bill offers a house elf the opportunity and the right to change their station, a basic right long-since denied their race. I hope that in my lifetime, I will be able to see house-elves receive a fairer kind of treatment than they have since long before I was born. We owe this much to beings who are swept into the corners and cracks of our world, and have never once raised a hand against us. We owe them fair treatment. And for those of you who are thinking of voting no for the sake of preserving what we have labeled their 'happiness,' I would like to say, once again, that just because the house-elf is accustomed to the treatment that he has received his entire life, that his ancestors received for their entire lives, it does not mean he is happy. Do not confuse docility in the face of maltreatment with what is right. Thank you."

To a great deal of applause, Hermione strode purposefully behind her table and sat down smartly, watching the court. She folded her hands on the tabletop as she glanced sideways at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, and returned her gaze to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was calling the room to order.

"Having received testimony on the resistance to this bill in previous hearings, the Wizengamot will now deliberate," he called, and silence fell again. "All in favor of passing The House Elf Rights Bill into law, please vote now."

Ron watched hands go up—ten—twenty—fifty—his heart leapt. Nearly all of the Wizengamot had raised their hands. He looked at Hermione, who had gone very stiff in her chair, her eyes wide.

"All opposed?" asked Kingsley. Hands went up, here and there, but not nearly as many as before.

"The bill is passed. Congratulations, Madam Weasley."

* * *

28 June 2029

"Hi." Hermione leaned across Ron's desk, beaming at him over her silver spectacles.

"Hi," he said, grinning back.

"The staff and I are going to the Leaky Cauldron," she told him. "We're celebrating the end of our inquiries. Do you want to come along?"

Ron sighed and looked at the pile of work on his desk, considering it. "All right," he said finally, shoving the parchment into a folder and making a neat stack. "I can get this done tomorrow."

He got up, stretching, and put an arm around Hermione, following her to the lifts, where Hermione's team of workers were all waiting for her, chattering and laughing excitedly. As Ron and Hermione approached them, the doors of a lift jangled open, and Harry walked out.

"Hey, mate, we're going to the Cauldron. Tell Ginny. We'll save a place for you," Ron called. Harry, who was deep in conversation with Dennis Creevey, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, gave a brief wave to indicate that he'd understood.

Within fifteen minutes, the entire party of Ministry workers, with Ron and Hermione in the lead, had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, which was crowded and full of loud conversation from the other patrons.

"How are you both?" Hermione asked.

"Brilliant, if you're bringing us business like this all the time," Neville laughed, shaking Ron's hand. "Celebrating?"

Hermione was glowing with happiness. "We finished our inquiries! I can't say we've got all house-elves accounted for, of course—that would be amazing—but it's a step."

"We wanted to thank you for bringing us those four you found," Hannah told her. "They're such a huge help."

"They're happy?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"They've adjusted really well," Neville affirmed. "Jordy is still nervous about taking pay. He keeps trying to put his ears in the oven door whenever he thinks of it. But we've set aside all that we owe him," he added hastily at the expression on Hermione's face. "When he's ready, we'll give it to him," Neville promised.

"Thank you so much," Hermione said, touching his arm. Ron grinned; she looked ready to start floating a few inches above the ground, she was so happy.

"Come and see them," Neville suggested, but Hannah swatted his shoulder.

"Let her have her dinner, Neville," she laughed. "Come on, I'll send one of them out to see you," she promised Hermione, chivvying them over to a long table that her elder daughter, Alice, was wiping down.

When she saw Ron and Hermione, Alice turned bright red, laughed nervously, and darted away without saying hello. Ron frowned. "What was that about?" he asked curiously.

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe because she's supposed to be studying for her Auror exams," she said.

"Not bloody likely, she's the best in her class," Ron scoffed. Hermione wasn't listening.

"Order the stew, John, you won't regret it," she said to the wizard from her office who had seated himself on her other side. "Hannah's an amazing cook." She looked back at Ron, smiling conspiratorially. "I think I'll have a gillywater," she said in a low voice.

Ron snorted. "Hold you back, no one can stop you." Hermione shoved him.

"Good evening, sirs and madams!" squeaked a tiny voice near Ron's elbow, calling the attention of the entire table to a house-elf wearing an overlarge violet t-shirt marked with an enormous letter A. Hermione beamed.

"Hello, Abner," she said. "How are you?"

"Abner is well, Madam Wee-slee," he said, going scarlet. He produced a notepad and pencil from the folds of his shirt. "Abner is here to take your drink orders."

Ron chuckled at the expression of pure joy on Hermione's face.

"I'll have a gillywater, please, Abner," she told the elf, who nodded excitedly and, concentrating hard, painstakingly wrote down the order.

The little elf moved around the table, taking orders. Hermione couldn't keep her eyes off of him. Ron, however, had just noticed something.

"Ah, no—I don't believe it…"

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"I've left my briefcase at work," he said, rolling his eyes and getting up.

"Surely it'll be all right until tomorrow morning?" Hermione asked.

Ron shook his head. "It's got gold I took out of Gringotts this morning in it," he said. "For _your_ birthday gift. And don't go asking what it is, you're never going to find out."

"You've been saying that for thirty years, and I _always_ do," she informed him. At his frown, however, she put on an expression of mock surprise. "I mean…my birthday?" she asked, widening her eyes.

"Senile at fifty." Ron shook his head.

"I'm not fifty until September." She pointed a finger at him. "And you're only six months after me!"

"Which means that I'm being your extremely thoughtful, much younger husband," he said. "Better not chance it with the gold, anyway. I'll be back in a minute and tell Harry to get a move on."

Hermione smiled. "All right."

Ron hurried out of the bar, accidentally walking straight into Neville near the kitchen door.

"Going so soon?" Neville asked.

"Left something at work," Ron said, trying to move past him. "Be back soon!"

"You don't want to go that way," Neville said hurriedly. "Someone's been sick in the alley, I was just going to clean it up." He pushed open the kitchen door. "Go out the back way."

"Thanks, mate!" said Ron. He gave Neville a hurried wave, cut through the kitchen to the back door, and Disapparated from the alleyway directly into the Atrium of the Ministry, where he nodded to the security guard. When the lift deposited him on the level of the Auror offices, Harry was just closing his office door.

"Oh, I just sent Ginny a message. I was coming to meet you," he said, tapping the doorknob with his wand and locking it.

"Forgot my briefcase—it's got the money I needed for Hermione's birthday present," Ron answered, reaching under his desk and producing it. He stuffed several folders and pieces of parchment inside, checked that his bag of gold was still there, and snapped it shut. "C'mon, let's go, I said I'd only be a minute."

"Ron, what's that?" Harry asked, frowning at Ron's desk.

He turned. Hopping onto the desktop was a small, silvery toad Patronus. "That's Neville," he said slowly before the toad opened its mouth and spoke with Neville's voice.

"Come to St. Mungo's now. Emergency. Hermione's hurt. Meet you there."


	2. Chapter 2

Ron paced in circles around an ugly set of furniture in the waiting room at St. Mungo's. The crystal bubbles that illuminated the halls glimmered overhead, but he was staring fixedly at the ground, unable to keep still. His fingers twisted and fidgeted of their own accord as he walked first one way, and then the other. Harry stood a few feet away, staring blankly down the corridor. They'd been waiting for nearly half an hour.

"Ron," Harry said quietly, and he glanced up for the first time since Neville had departed. Harry nodded down the corridor, where the ward doors had swung open.

"Dad!" Rose cried, running down the corridor into Ron's arms. Hugo followed closely behind her, and after him came Ginny, Albus, James, and Lily.

"Hi, Rosie," Ron said, harried, but relieved to be holding his daughter. He opened one arm to take in Hugo as well, and his chin trembled as they embraced. When they finally pulled back, Rose looked as though she were on the verge of tears. Ron gave a great sniff and reached out to rub her shoulder.

"Oh, Ron," Ginny said in a strangled voice when he turned to her, pulling her in for a tight hug.

"Hi, Uncle Ron," James said quietly, patting his back.

"How is she?" asked Albus, putting his arm around Lily, who hurriedly wiped away a tear. Rose clutched Hugo's arm and stared at Ron.

"I haven't been allowed in," Ron said hoarsely, looking between all of them, and Harry nodded in confirmation. "But it was a really close call. If she hadn't been at the Leaky Cauldron, with Neville and Hannah—" his throat gave a sudden pain, and he sank down into one of the waiting room armchairs.

"What happened?" Ginny asked, looking horrified.

"She was poisoned," Harry said quietly, sparing Ron the trouble of answering. "Something in her drink. Hannah's with Kingsley and a team of Aurors at the pub. Neville's gone north to tell Minerva."

Ron buried his face in his hands. Rose sat on the arm of his chair and put a hand on his back, biting her lip as tears filled her eyes.

"Mum'll be okay, Dad," Hugo said, sitting down next to him. "She will."

Ron looked up at him, trying to smile, though he seemed unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. "'Course she will," he answered. Several long moments of silence followed this, undisturbed but for a few sobs from Rose. Lily, who was sitting on the sofa beside Ginny, held out her arms, and Rose went to her, burying her face in Lily's shoulder.

Harry sighed, distressed, and turned to Ron. "I think I'll be more use if I get to the Cauldron. I'll be back in two hours, unless I hear differently," he told him, laying one hand on his shoulder. "Does that sound all right?"

"Yeah," Ron said, nodding up at him. "Go on. We'll see you soon."

"Be careful," Ginny told Harry, getting up and kissing him. "Please."

Harry nodded, kissed Lily's cheek, and rubbed Rose's back before hurrying back down the corridor. Hugo offered Ginny his seat and moved to the couch, leaning his head on Lily's other shoulder. Ginny took Ron's hand, and they all waited.

An hour crawled by. Lily leaned back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling, with Hugo on her shoulder and Rose's head in her lap. She rubbed the thick white scar on her throat with one hand, a nervous habit, and stroked Rose's hair with the other. James had moved to the floor, holding his head between his knees.

Albus sat in a chair near his mother, who was still clinging to Ron's hand. Ron himself had not moved or made a sound for nearly half an hour.

"I'm going to see if anyone else has answered the message we sent out," Ginny said gently, getting up. Ron nodded absently, not really hearing her.

A Healer hurried up. "Ginny!" she said rather breathlessly, catching her by the arms. Ron did a double take, realizing suddenly that it was Lavender Thomas. "I just got on duty and heard someone mention Hermione. This isn't my area, but can I help at all?" she asked, looking around at the family.

"Would you?" Ginny asked. Lavender nodded. "I need to know if anyone in the family's answered the messages I sent." Ginny dropped her voice. "I'm not sure I should leave Ron." She looked nervously back at him, and Ron dropped his head again.

"I'll go to the desk right now," Lavender told her, patting Ginny's arm. She bit her lip, looking at all of their miserable expressions again and raised her voice. "If there's one thing I know about Hermione, it's that she's really tough. I'm sure she'll be all right." Ginny gave her a faint, grateful smile, but Ron couldn't find it in himself to even react. "Well, I'll go and see if I can find anything out for you." And Lavender hurried away, before Ginny could even thank her.

Another half hour crept by. Lavender returned with a handful of notes from the family promising to visit the moment that they knew they would not be in the way, but she had little to say on Hermione's condition, though she had found out that Terry Boot was the Healer who was tending to her. Lavender had to return to the maternity ward, so Ginny said thank-you and came back to Ron, who had still barely moved.

It was nearly midnight. Rose had cried herself to sleep in Lily's lap, and there was a kind of tension in the air that seemed alive. Suddenly, someone cleared his throat, and everybody looked up. Lily got Rose to sit up and look at the Healer, Terry, who addressed Ron.

"She's not out of the woods yet, but she's stable for now," he said. Rose put a hand over her mouth, and Ron and Hugo stood. "Whatever this poison is, it's bad, and it works fast. We're examining it now. It did a lot of internal damage, and Hermione's going to have to spend some time here so we can keep an eye on her." He paused at the expression on Ron's face. "I can talk to you about that later. For now, she's awake, and aware, and wants to see her family."

"N-now?" Ron stammered. His voice was dry.

Terry looked at Rose and Hugo, who had joined their father. "One at a time is easiest on Hermione. Keep it brief, though," he told Hugo, to whom Ron had nodded to go first. "She's in pain, and we'll be giving her a Sleeping Draught as soon as you're done."

Hugo nodded and walked down the hallway to the room Terry pointed out. Ginny, James, Lily, and Al got up and came over to Ron.

"Are you staying here?" Ginny asked him. Ron nodded shortly, rubbing his neck as he turned to face her. "Why don't you send Rosie and Hugo with us? Lily's coming home with me for the night, and they can stay too. That way you can send us all word when she's feeling more up to visitors. I'll pass any messages along to Mum and Dad, I promise."

Ron nodded again, not meeting her eyes.

"Don't worry, Ron," she said, taking hold of his upper arms. "Hermione's strong. She's going to be fine."

At that moment, Hugo returned, looking deeply upset, but he gave Rose a look of encouragement. "She wants to see you, Rosie," he said.

Rose took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, marching for the hospital room. Ron waited with the others, silent, but with his hand on Hugo's shoulder as he stared at the floor. Before long, Rose came back down the hall, fresh tears building in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Ron, who kissed her hair.

"Why don't you two go with your aunt for tonight?" Ron said quietly, as Ginny, James, Al, and Lily walked a short ways down the hall. I'll Floo if anything—changes," Ron said. Rose and Hugo looked resistant. "Go get some sleep. Come back in the morning," Ron told them. "I promise, I'll send a message right away if there's…anything we need."

And, reluctantly, they left him, though Rose glanced back once or twice as Hugo held his arm around her. Ron watched the ward doors slowly stop swinging and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He paced a few times, then stopped, staring down the hall in the direction of Hermione's room. Then he paced a little more furiously, and stopped again. The blood was rushing around in his head, and he felt dizzy and a bit sick.

Finally, he started off towards her room.

The corridor seemed a lot longer than it should have been. His steps echoed eerily beneath the oddly gleaming crystal bubbles along the ceiling. When had all the sounds of the hospital faded away? Wasn't anyone else on the floor?

He stopped outside Hermione's door and took a deep breath. She would not see him lose control, he told himself, pushing open the door. He faltered, though, when he saw Hermione lying in the bed.

Hermione was as white as the sheets she lay in. She looked shockingly small, and somehow older than she truly was. Her face was drawn in pain and her eyes were closed. One arm lay over her middle. Her spectacles, robes, and handbag lay in a pile on a small table in the corner near her bed.

Ron's chin quivered, but he clenched his teeth hard and walked quietly around to the other side of the bed, sitting down in a small chair near her bedside. He slipped one hand into her ice-cold one.

Hermione stirred slightly, tightening her hold on his hand and opening her eyes slowly. She seemed to need a few moments to recognize Ron before a weak smile lit her face. Ron felt tears sting his eyes.

"You're…here," she said softly. It sounded as though speaking was a great effort for her.

"Of course I am," Ron told her, kissing her hand again. "Of course."

"I feel…like…a fool," Hermione said, shaking her head slightly. She was having trouble keeping her breath. "Taking…a…a drink with…without checking it…even at the Cauldron."

"You couldn't have known," Ron whispered.

"I could have…could've…lost you," Hermione said, her brown eyes full of tears, too large for her pale face.

And at last, Ron burst into tears, clutching her hand tightly. Hermione moved her fingers feebly to touch his features. She tried to smile and moved slightly on the bed to face him better, but gave a sudden, loud gasp of pain, wincing horribly and clenching her hand on her stomach. Ron got up.

"I'll find the Healer with your Sleeping Draught," he said quickly, wiping his face.

"No," Hermione said, suddenly frightened, and holding tighter to his hand. "I'll be…okay…I can wait. Just…don't…don't leave…me…all right?"

"Okay—okay, Hermione…I'm here, I'll stay right here," he told her. Hermione's eyes began to close, but she forced them open.

"Go to sleep," he insisted, reaching up to softly smooth back her hair. He could just see one of the gray streaks she had at her hairline that he usually teased her about to make her smile. "I'll stay right here."

"Don't…tell me…what to do…Ronald Weasley," Hermione said slowly, the corner of her mouth lifting. Ron gave her a watery smile and kissed her hand again.

"Mr. Weasley, were you planning on staying here tonight?" A young Healer had stuck her head into the room. "We don't normally allow—"

"That's all right, Mira," Terry Boot said, entering the room as well. "The Weasleys are old friends. I will allow Mr. Weasley to stay here tonight. I don't think it will cause any problems."

Mira blinked, looking surprised, but she nodded. "I'll see about a spare pillow or two, then."

"Thank you," Terry said, and Mira left. Then he turned to Hermione, withdrawing from his pocket a small, dark blue bottle. "Hermione, this will alleviate the pain, and it's going to put you to sleep for a while." Hermione nodded slightly, squeezing Ron's hand. "I'll be back in the morning to check on you. If you're in pain, or need anything else, don't hesitate to let us know. I mean it. We're here to help you."

"Thanks for everything, Terry," Ron said, getting up to shake his hand. Terry gave a brief smile and handed him the potion.

"That works fast. Take it soon, the whole thing," he said. "I'll see you both in the morning."

"All right," Ron said, uncorking the potion. He leaned over, kissed her cheek very softly, then straightened and held the bottle to Hermione's lips. When she had finished the potion, he replaced the cork and sat back down, picking up her hand again.

Hermione turned her head to look at Ron, her eyes starting to close. "I love…you," she said, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand.

Ron felt tears forming again, and held on a bit tighter to her hand. "I love you, too," he said softly.

Hermione smiled.

* * *

Ron woke the next morning when a ray of sunlight streamed through the window into his eyes. He got up, feeling all his muscles and joints protest from spending the night in the chair, with his head on Hermione's bed. He stretched his back and went to close the curtains before the light could bother Hermione.

He was fully aware that if he ever voiced what he thought as he looked at her, Hermione would throttle him, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking it. She looked to be even sicker in the daylight. Her skin had taken on an almost translucent quality, and she honestly looked as though she had lost weight overnight. Even the gentle lines that were starting to crease her face looked deeper.

Hermione was wrapped under the half-dozen blankets Ron had procured for her. She had been freezing cold whenever he woke up in the middle of the night and touched her hands, and he had woken up several times. He glanced out the door, where he could just see Alexandra Morris, one of the Aurors Harry had sent to guard the room.

He sat down again, allowing himself to doze slightly for almost two hours. When his back ached, Ron got up again and walked over to the table to pick up Hermione's handbag, opening it and withdrawing her wand. He could have kicked himself for not remembering it earlier, but the wand was fortunately still there, and he slipped it into his pocket. As he did so, he saw a small picture of their family tucked into a small pocket in the bag. It had been taken about fifteen years ago; Rosie was perhaps eight, Hugo was six or so.

They'd been at the Burrow for Christmas, and Rose had had a terrible case of the flu. She spent most of the night wrapped in blankets in Molly's rocker by the fire. Merlin, she had Hermione's smile, Ron noticed yet again, as he watched his daughter laughing in her mother's lap.

He laid the photo on the table and picked up the robes, folding them haphazardly, then tucked Hermione's glasses into her bag, removing her Ministry clearance badge and coinpurse as well. He glanced over his shoulder. Hermione was still nestled among the blankets and pillows, but her eyes were half-open and looking at him. She smiled softly when Ron looked around.

"I didn't know you had this," Ron said, holding up the photograph.

"Your…mum…gave it to…me," Hermione answered slowly. Ron frowned a bit. She still sounded as though she couldn't catch her breath.

"I didn't mean to wake you," said Ron, coming to sit back down beside her. "You should rest, Hermione. Go back to sleep." He picked up her hand, rubbing her arm gently, as, without even a sound of protest, Hermione closed her eyes again, falling asleep almost instantly. He sat back, still holding her hand.

It did not occur to him right away that something was very, very wrong. Ron sat up, leaning close to her. Hermione's breathing was shallow and weak, and sweat had broken out across her forehead.

"Hermione," he said sharply. She didn't stir. "Hermione," Ron said again, a little more loudly, touching one hand to her clammy cheek. "Hermione, wake up."

Hermione's eyes fluttered, but did not open. Ron felt his stomach fall away and he ran for the door. Alexandra was startled.

"Mr. Weasley? What's—"

Ron ignored her. "Hello?" he yelled, looking all around, not caring that he was disturbing half the ward. "Somebody? Anybody? Terry? HELLO?"

One of the nurses at the desk at the end of the hall came running. Visitors were poking their heads out of rooms all down the corridor to stare at Ron.

"Sir, this is a _hospital_," the nurse said. "_What_ is the matter?"

"My wife," Ron stammered.

The nurse rushed past him, and Ron followed her in. She picked up Hermione's wrist and felt for her pulse, laying her other hand on Hermione's forehead. Her expression turned grim.

"What?" Ron asked desperately. "_What?_"

The nurse headed for the door again. "I'm getting a Healer. Just a minute."

Ron moved to lean over Hermione again, touching her face gently. "Hermione," he said. "Come on…"

"Ron, I need you to wait outside," Terry said as he hurried into the room. "Please."

Ron nodded once and released Hermione's hand, allowing Terry and the nurse to come closer, and he stepped outside. As he waited, the nurse dashed out and back in, bringing two more Healers with her. Alexandra seemed so surprised that she could do no more than sputter in astonishment, and Ron was not inclined to explain anything. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the nurse came out of Hermione's room and addressed Ron.

"Mr. Weasley, can you please go to the waiting room?" she asked, sounding kind but rather tense.

"Why?" Ron demanded. "Tell me what's happening!"

The nurse took a step back, holding up both hands. "Your wife's experiencing a kind of latent shock reaction."

"That's impossible, I was just talking to her!" shouted Ron.

"Please, lower your voice, Mr. Weasley, we're doing everything we can," the nurse said. "I promise, one of us will be out to talk to you soon."

Ron glared fiercely at her, but through his anger, he was dimly aware that he would be removed from the ward if he did not cooperate. He marched down the hall, to the waiting area where he'd sat the night before, and began pacing.

The repetitive motion soothed his mind, and Ron began to think more clearly. Rose…and Hugo…he would send them a note. They might be on their way already, he thought, but he should write them, and Ginny as well. She could pass word along to everyone else, including Molly and Arthur. He hurried to find a nurse and asked for a quill and several pieces of parchment.

No sooner had Ron sealed the scroll than Hugo and Rose came down the hall. Rose held a bouquet of snowdrops. They almost walked past the waiting area, not seeing Ron at first. Then Hugo spotted him.

"Dad?" He and Rose hurried over. "What's wrong?" Hugo asked immediately. "What's happened?"

"I don't know yet...your mum was having trouble breathing, and they sent me out," said Ron. Rose covered her mouth with her hand. Hugo put an arm around her. "They haven't told me anything."

"Ron," Terry's voice said from behind him. Ron turned, and his heart nearly stopped at the grave look on Terry's face.

"She's not—"

"She's alive," Terry assured him. "But she's not well. This poison is really something powerful, more so than I thought. I'm going to have it fully examined as soon as Harry brings in the bottle. It's too much for the potions we were giving her before. We've altered what we need to, but her body needs time to fight it as well. She's had a second reaction to the poison, and she's unconscious. We're going to have to take it slowly for the next few days."

"Can't you wake her up?" Rose asked, her voice rising.

Terry shook his head. "I don't think that's safe. We have to just wait for her to wake on her own."

"Can we see her?" Hugo asked.

"Of course, but I should tell you that I'm having her moved to the critical care ward right now," Terry said, glancing over his shoulder. "She'll wake soon, but we need to monitor her more closely, and they're much stricter about letting overnight visitors there." This last comment was directed at Ron.

"I can't stay with her?" Ron asked, his throat dry.

Terry's eyes were sympathetic. "I'm sorry. Not until she's stable."


	3. Chapter 3

I suck! I forgot to also thank the wonderfully helpful and sweet Twigglet25, who also took a look at this for me. Thanks, my dear!

* * *

"Ron, I'm going to the Cauldron."

Ron didn't look up from the stack of parchment he had been staring at for nearly ten minutes. It was midmorning, two days since he had spent the night in the hospital. Hermione had, true to Terry's word, woken up, but she now spent most of the time since asleep under heavy pain medicines. He had only been able to see her for one short stay since his first night in the hospital, and she had been too confused and befuddled to talk very much. All of the Healers tried to assure Ron that this was to be expected, considering the numerous potions she was taking on an hourly basis, but as far as he was concerned, it didn't seem as though she was improving at all.

It didn't help that the _Daily Prophet _was causing a huge maelstrom of panic and finger-pointing among the magical community as to who was responsible for trying to murder Hermione Weasley. The implied accusations ranged from a resurgence of Death Eaters in league with proponents of Muggle-hunting all the way to members of Hermione's own department out for a pay rise.

Hate mail was pouring in, though the amount directed at Ron was nothing short of staggering, considering that the _Daily Prophet_ was painting him as a grieving husband and hero. But he supposed that as he was second only to Harry within the department in terms of both fame and power, he should not be surprised that people expected him to lead the investigations.

Besides, he did not care. Every piece of mail that came his way he inevitably binned, or, if it was a Howler, he shut it in his drawer until it finished screaming.

"Ron. _Ron_."

He started, looking up at Harry. "Oh. Sorry, what?"

Harry frowned. "You should go back to the hospital, mate. You don't need to be here."

"No, no…they don't like it when I just stay there. You said something. Where are you going?"

Harry sighed. "The Leaky Cauldron."

"I thought you talked to them all the other night," Ron frowned, standing up and shuffling together the papers on his desk.

"Neville's daughter Cat served Hermione the bottle, but she wasn't fit to talk to me," he answered. "She's pregnant, you know, and got so scared when—you know—well, she fainted."

Ron looked up, startled. "No one told me that," he said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Ron," Harry said.

"Right, sorry." Ron shook his head. "Is she all right?"

Harry nodded. "She's fine, asked us to come in today." He looked Ron up and down. "I guess you're coming with me?"

"Don't I always?" Ron asked in a harried tone. "C'mon, I've got to get out of here."

Avoiding the lingering gazes of the other Aurors and Ministry workers they passed as they left the office and headed for the lifts, Ron was inexpressibly relieved when he arrived at the fireplace that would take them somewhere that wasn't his house, his office, or St. Mungo's.

"The Leaky Cauldron," he called, dropping a fistful of Floo powder and bracing himself as Harry's face spun out of view.

* * *

"And you're sure the bottle was clean when you took it from the bar?" Harry asked Cat Longbottom. Neville and Hannah's younger daughter was recently married to one of Seamus and Katie Finnigan's sons, and already expecting her first child.

Ron, Harry, Cat, and her husband Connor were sitting in one of the Leaky Cauldron's private rooms, and Ron was growing annoyed; this round of questions was providing no more information than they had already had.

"I'm positive, Mr. Potter," Cat said earnestly, rubbing her belly and looking very anxious. Connor clutched her hand tightly. "I had been using the same bottle of gillywater all night, no one else got sick."

Harry nodded, glancing at Ron, who was trying hard not to let his frustration show. There was a knock at the door, and Ron practically leapt up to answer it. Neville and Hannah stood nervously in the doorway, looking over at Cat. Ron sighed.

"I think that's all then," he said, turning back to the table. "You can go."

Cat and Connor looked taken aback, and glanced to Harry for confirmation. He seemed surprised, but nodded and rose, closing his notepad.

"She's not a suspect, is she?" Connor asked immediately, standing up as well.

Harry sighed heavily. "No, she's not. There's no evidence at all against you, Cat. I only need to know everything you can remember about what happened, so if you do remember something, you've got to reach our office right away. Do you understand?"

"Of course," Cat said, nodding fervently. "Anything at all."

"All right then," Harry told her. "Go on."

Connor helped Cat to her feet, and they made their way back downstairs to the pub. Ron gave the girl a brief nod as she passed, then faced Neville and Hannah, who had approached Harry.

"You don't really think Cat had anything to do with it," Neville said, looking between Harry and Ron. It was a statement, leveled with a shrewd expression on his face.

"'Course I don't, Neville, there's no reason to," Harry told him, glancing at Ron, who nodded. "But Cat's a smart girl. I trust her version of events, just like I trust yours," Harry said, gesturing between Hannah and Neville.

"It's just making sure we've gotten absolutely everything," Ron added a little impatiently. "We should get back to the Ministry, though, Harry. Morris and Peakes might have turned something up."

"Wait," Hannah said quickly. She looked sideways at Neville. "We thought of something. I'm sorry I didn't tell you the other night, it's just that I'm still not used to having them, and they're so used to staying out of the way that I forgot about them, with everything that happened…"

Ron frowned. "Who?"

"The four house-elves in the kitchen," Neville explained. "All freed, thanks to Hermione's bill. We're really sorry, it just didn't occur to us."

Ron made a noise of anger, but Harry interrupted him, "That never occurred to us, either. Yes, can we talk to them?" He looked excitedly at Ron, who was clenching his teeth together.

"Would've been better if we'd talk to them right off," he muttered, not looking at either Neville or Hannah, though he, too, had forgotten about the elves. He could have kicked himself.

"I'm really very sorry, Ron," Hannah apologized. "They're really very nice, and all of them were so upset to hear about Hermione. They _wanted _to be freed, you know. But maybe one of them saw something."

Ron pulled away from her. "It's fine. Where are they?"

"In the kitchen," said Neville. "Come with us."

Ron, still scowling, followed Neville and Hannah from the room and down through the bar, which, as the Leaky Cauldron was still closed for investigations, was entirely empty. At the kitchen door, Harry stopped him.

"Ron, get a grip," he said in a low voice. "You're not yourself." Ron gave him a hard look, and he fell silent.

"We've added on a room behind the pantry for them…it's odd, they like to stay together," Hannah was saying, as they walked through the kitchen.

Neville knocked on, and then pushed open the door behind the pantry. Strung like streamers back and forth across the brightly lit little room hung a wide selection of tiny, brightly colored socks, shirts, blouses and trousers. Beneath a wide window a table and four small chairs, and against either wall was a set of bunk beds.

"Hello, Mister Neville," squeaked a little voice, and Harry looked down at a neat line of four house-elves, two male and two female, standing at attention. "Mistress Hannah."

"Hello, Hilty," said Hannah, smiling at the littlest house-elf, who had spoken. "Tindy, Abner, Jordy—these are our friends Harry and Ron." The elf called Tindy's eyes went comically wide, and Abner, whom Ron recognized immediately as the elf that had taken his and Hermione's orders, actually squeaked in shock.

"Mister Harry Potter!" squeaked the other female, bowing low before Harry. "It is an honor, sir!" The others copied her, and Ron felt rather uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he'd seen Harry receive a welcome like that.

"It's nice to meet you all as well," Harry said.

"We is pleased to meet you, too, sir," said one of the female elves—Hilty, Ron thought. She darted forward and shook his hand.

"Pleasure," he nodded, though he didn't smile.

"Harry wants to talk to you about anything you might have noticed then night that Mrs. Weasley was here…" Hannah trailed off, glancing at Ron uncomfortably.

The house-elves were exchanging sad, gloomy looks, and Ron suddenly felt terrible for them. "Er…listen," he said, and the elves all looked up at once. He sat down cross-legged on the floor, and Hilty actually gasped.

"Please sir," she said desperately. "Take a seat, we is not wanting you to be uncomfortable!"

"I'm fine," Ron said, waving his hand. "Look, why don't you all sit down, right here, and we can talk for a minute?" For a half second, he almost expected the newly freed elves to completely panic, but after only a few nervously exchanged glances, they managed to collect their little chairs and sit down in front of Ron. With a mingled stab of pain and pride, Ron thought of Hermione and how happy she would have been to see them. _She will see them_, he thought.

He looked back at Harry, Neville, and Hannah. "Give us a moment?"

Neville nodded, and he and Hannah left the room, closing the door behind them. Ron looked at Harry.

"Let me talk to them?" he asked under his breath.

"Ron," Harry said slowly.

"I'm fine, I promise," he insisted. "You can stay, just let me talk?"

"O-okay. Sure." Harry stepped back and pulled out his notebook, and Ron turned again to face the elves.

He gave them a rather tight smile. Before he could speak, though, the littlest house-elf, Hilty, spoke up again.

"Sir, is Missus Hermione Wee-slee hurt bad?" she asked, looking very distressed. She looked back at the others, who nodded fervently.

Ron paused, feeling his stomach clench. "Do you four know who she is?"

"Yes!" the elf called Abner squeaked. "Missus Hermione Wee-slee is great witch! She gives us our freedom!"

Ron gave a slight smile, glancing back at Harry, who grinned. "Yeah, she did."

"We is not wanting Missus Wee-slee to be hurt," piped up Jordy. The others nodded. "Missus Wee-slee is good witch, kind witch. Missus Wee-slee is favorite to us!"

Ron nodded. "She's one of my favorites, too."

"Missus Wee-slee will be all right?" Hilty asked nervously.

"She's getting better," said Ron, swallowing hard. "She's at the hospital, and they're taking good care of her."

The elves looked nervous, but accepted this. "Thank you, sir," said Tindy, and Ron nodded.

"Now, do you think you can answer some of my questions?" he asked, and the four little elves nodded eagerly.

"All right. Do any of you think you saw something strange, or somebody unusual in the pub that night? Or maybe someone who was near Hermione—er, Mrs. Weasley?" asked Ron. He looked at Abner. "You took our orders, didn't you, Abner?" The elf nodded nervously. "Do you remember anything strange?"

"No, sir," Abner squeaked. "Abner prepares drinks with Mistress Cat…Mistress Cat carries them away…Abner remains in kitchen."

"So you saw nothing at all?" Ron asked, knowing how desperate he sounded.

The four elves looked at each other, frowning and shaking their heads. Then, suddenly, one of them looked up. "Sir, please," he said, raising one hand in the air.

"Er—yeah—Jordy?" Ron asked hopefully. "You can just talk, no need to raise your hand." Jordy blushed scarlet.

"We stays in the kitchen," he said, obviously thinking he was helping a great deal. "We is not disturbing witches and wizards at meals."

"Er…wait," Ron said slowly, "You mean, none of you actually saw what happened to Hermione?" he asked, deflating slightly. He looked back at Harry, who was frowning.

Jordy, Hilty, and Abner shook their heads, but Tindy looked up. "Tindy was in the dining room, sir," she said. "Tindy saw…but Tindy was frightened. Tindy hid." She hung her head, ashamed.

Ron sighed, trying not to be too annoyed. "Right," he said, frowning. He closed his notepad. "All right, then. That's it, I guess. Thanks, you lot."

"Yes, sir, we is happy to help," squeaked Hilty as Ron stood. She caught his hand. "Will sir please—"

"Shh, Hilty," Jordy admonished.

"Will I what?" Ron asked.

Hilty blushed. "Will sir please tell us how Mistress Wee-slee is? If sir is not too busy," she added quickly.

To his great embarrassment, Ron felt a lump rise in his throat. "Yeah," he said. "Sure, I'll send a note to Neville."

Bidding the elves goodbye, they walked out into the kitchen, where Harry faced him.

"What d'you reckon?" he asked. "That didn't help much, to be honest."

"I think we should take a look at Hermione's files on her inquiries," Ron said after a moment.

Harry sighed. "I was thinking the same thing. I've been wondering if maybe it was someone she made angry…well, it's a start, at least."

"I know," Ron said, nodding. "Let's get her staff to bring us the files for the people who lost their elves."

* * *

That evening, Ron dropped by the hospital, hoping to see Hermione and tell her that they had begun narrowing their search. Before he could make it to her ward, however, he ran into Terry.

"Ron," he said, catching his arm. "I'm glad I found you."

"Look, I just need to drop in on Hermione, we can talk—"

"No, that's what I want to talk to you about," Terry told him.

Ron's stomach dropped. "What's wrong?"

"Come in here." Terry led him off the corridor into an empty room and closed the door. "Hermione's not doing well," he said bluntly.

Ron stared at him.

Terry continued, "Usually, after being poisoned, we would expect the victim to be showing signs of improvement, sitting up, eating and drinking a bit."

"You said that poison's unusual, though," Ron said. "You said the antidote's different."

"And that's still true, but—well, I got curious about why she wasn't getting better, and I examined her again."

"And?" Ron asked. "What did you find?"

Terry sighed. "Because we have to keep adjusting the antidote, the poison is staying with her."

"What does that mean?" But Ron had a horrible idea that he already knew the answer.

"Look," Terry said, rubbing his eyes. "The antidote we've made…it's not quite right. It's a sort of mash of things that we pieced together. Golpalott's Third Law, though—"

"Terry, get to the point," said Ron rather violently.

"She's not showing improvement because we need a better match to this poison," Terry said. "And the only way I can do that is if I have a clean sample of whatever was given to her."

"We brought you the bottle!"

Terry looked apprehensive. "The sample was contaminated with the gillywater, _that's_ why I've had so much trouble with it. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but because of the nature of the poison, you know, it takes on the appearance and consistency of whatever it's introduced to…it's useless."

"_What?_" Ron exploded. "That's ridiculous!"

"Ron, I'm sorry, but—"

He strode away from Terry angrily. Then he turned. "So what does this mean?"

"We're going to keep doing our best for Hermione," Terry promised. "But I'm _very_ concerned that if you don't find the original poison she was given, she may die before she gets better."

Unable to listen to anything further, Ron marched to the door and stormed up the corridor, ducking into the men's lavatory, where he hurriedly splashed water on his face. How could this be happening? He looked up at his reflection for a moment and wiped his face with a towel.

He took several deep breaths, fighting hard not to be sick. It was all right, he told himself, it would be all right as soon as they'd collected the files from Hermione's office. Then, then they'd have their answer, and Hermione would be all right again. He looked into his own eyes, repeating this over and over in his mind. Then, slowly, he took another breath. He would keep this to himself, for now. There was no sense getting Rose and Hugo upset, and certainly not Harry or Ginny.

Feeling slightly more in control, Ron straightened and left the bathroom, heading down the hall in the direction of the critical care ward. He nodded to Powers and Thompson, the Aurors on duty outside the ward doors, and went in. The curtains were drawn around Hermione's bed, one of the few that were occupied in the ward.

Quietly, Ron walked in. He was surprised to see Hugo sitting with Hermione, holding her hand. They both looked up when Ron came in.

"Hey, Dad," said Hugo, rising. He bent and kissed Hermione's cheek. "I'll see you the day after tomorrow, Mum. Promise."

"Bye, sweetheart," she said with a sleepy smile. She still sounded as though she couldn't keep her breath. Ron's heart twisted.

"You don't have to go on my account," Ron said, hugging his son.

"He's…got…a date," Hermione supplied in a faint voice. "With Alice…Longbottom."

"Thanks for that, Mum," Hugo joked. Hermione smiled. "I'll see you both later."

Ron grinned and sat down. "I'm glad you're awake," he said. Perhaps it was because of his conversation with Terry, but it seemed to him that Hermione looked particularly ill.

"They…woke me up…a little while ago," she said sleepily, holding his hand more tightly. "Ron…I…I've got to…talk to you…about something," she said. "Terry…was here…"

Ron closed his eyes. He would have given the world to keep what Terry had said from her, as well.

"You…know," Hermione said.

"He told me, just now."

She swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment. "I…don't want…Hugo and…Rosie…to know, yet," she said. "Nor…anybody…else. All right?"

Ron nodded. "You're going to be fine, Hermione."

She didn't seem to have heard him. "And…Ron, if…if I do die…"

Ron blanched. "You're not going to die," he said fiercely. "Hermione, don't say that."

Hermione gave him one of her most knowing looks. "Don't…coddle…me," she said. "This is…serious."

"No, listen, Harry and I found a huge lead today," Ron lied. "You're going to be fine. They're taking great care of you here, and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

Hermione watched him sadly. "All right," she said gently. "All…right." Her breath caught, and she closed her eyes, wincing.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked. "D'you—are you tired? Do you want to sleep?"

She nodded slightly, but held onto his hand. "Don't leave…yet…"

"Okay," Ron promised. "Okay…" Then, because the words were fighting to escape him, he whispered, "But you can't, either."

Hermione's fingers tightened in his. "Deal," she breathed.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey," Harry said, plainly startled to see Ron already seated at his desk early the next morning. "How's Hermione?"

"Fine." Ron closed a folder and made a note on its cover.

"Are those the files her team dropped off?"

"Yep," said Ron shortly. "They're a bloody mess."

"Doesn't Hermione oversee these?" Harry asked incredulously, picking up a folder.

"No, the filing is her assistant's job," Ron said bitterly. "And nothing's in the right order."

"Blimey," Harry said. He looked up at Ron, grinning. "Better not tell Hermione about this till she's well again, right?"

Ron scowled. "We _need_ these," he said. "They're our only lead, and since no one seems to have bothered to keep them neat they're nearly useless."

"All right, all right," said Harry. "Calm down. They're not useless. Come on, I'll help you."

"No," Ron grouched. Then he shook himself. "No, it's fine."

Harry sighed. "Ron, listen—"

"What, Harry?" he snapped.

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Fine," Ron said, flipping another folder shut. "I'll let you know if I find something."

The office filled up around him, but Ron paid no attention as he pored over file after file, with little success in finding anything out of the ordinary. It also didn't help that his mind kept wandering back to Hermione.

He was almost all of the way through the box of files when he came across a particularly thin folder. He frowned, looking at the name, written in Hermione's neat script: _Crouch, Wilma_.

He opened it to find only one single page—the status report. It looked as though this woman had had her house-elf removed for not conforming to the terms of the bill. But this was all that the page said. Ron frowned and flipped through the other papers; he could find no questionnaire or notice of inspection for this file.

Then, suddenly, the name hit him. _Crouch_…he got up and hurried away from his desk to Harry's office.

"Harry," Ron said, pushing the door open. "Harry, look at this."

Harry was scribbling notes into an investigation record. "What is it?" he asked, looking up.

"Look at the name on this file. It's missing a questionnaire and inspection record," Ron said, handing him the folder.

"Crouch?" Harry asked immediately. "Like Barty Crouch?"

"Probably a cousin or something," Ron said dismissively. "The point is, they're an old pureblood wizarding family, and she had a house elf taken away from her, _and _I can't find her questionnaire anywhere."

Harry shook his head. "That doesn't mean anything, they could have misplaced it."

"Harry," Ron said fiercely. "Let's talk to her. We can find out where she lives easily enough."

Harry was looking dubious. "It's not a lot to go on, Ron."

"What's the matter with you?" Ron cried. "You can't just let this pass by, it's suspicious. The _one_ file I've found that's missing information? We've got to do this, and we've got to do it now!"

"Ron," Harry said loudly. He flicked his wand at the door, which slammed shut. "_What_ is the matter with you? I want to find this person as badly as you do, but you've gone a bit manic."

Ron exhaled in disgust. "Look, if you don't want to go, it's fine. I'll find what I need to on my own, just give me the paperwork I need to do it."

"Ron, what's going on?" Harry asked seriously. "Did something happen?"

"Hermione's in trouble," Ron said. "Real trouble."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Ron was fighting to keep control of his voice. "They can't get a clean sample of the poison to give her the right antidote. They're just guessing, making it up, and it's taking too long. She's not getting better."

"I…Ron, I'm—" Harry stood and put a hand on Ron's arm.

"So are we going to this woman's house, or what?" Ron snapped, dodging him.

* * *

"Wow," Ron said, standing before the large house. "What does this remind you of?"

"Houses like Grimmauld Place run in old families like this," Harry shrugged. "At least we could find this one."

"Well, let's go, then," said Ron, going up the steps. He rapped on the door as Harry joined him. It hadn't been difficult to track down the information they needed to locate Wilma Crouch, as she had once been a well-respected donor to the Ministry of Magic via her late husband. Her very large townhouse (left to her by her husband, who was, in fact, a blood relative of the Crouch family) was in the heart of one of the nicest parts of London.

Ron knocked again. "The file says she's about a hundred years old," he grouched. "Where could she be, Quidditch practice?"

As if on command, the door opened. A young woman in nurse's clothing stood in the doorway. "Yes?" she asked.

"We're, er, here to see Ms. Crouch," Harry supplied, when Ron said nothing. "Is she in?"

"Yes," the nurse said. "But I'm afraid she wasn't expecting any visitors."

"We're Aurors," Ron said. "We need to ask her some questions."

The nurse looked very surprised. "Aurors? Well, let me see. Why don't you come in, and I'll see if she can talk to you."

They were ushered through a small entrance hall and into a dark sitting room, furnished with a great deal of very old, expensive furniture. The shelves that lined the walls were full of gilt-edged, leather-bound books and antique trinkets.

"Wait here, please," said the nurse, before leaving them and disappearing up the stairs.

"A nurse?" Harry mouthed, and Ron shrugged.

"Maybe she's just a maid or something," he said, though he didn't quite believe it. He was having a difficult time making head or tail of what was happening.

They waited in the parlor, without speaking, for nearly twenty minutes. Ron was absorbed in staring restlessly around the dark walls and shelves, and was thoroughly startled when a sudden crash and a loud thud sounded from across the hall.

Harry and Ron immediately drew their wands and hurried out into the dark foyer. There was a door at the back of the hall that presumably led to a kitchen. Harry nodded silently and started quietly forward, Ron directly behind him, their wands raised—

"It's an old house, Mr. Potter," said a raspy voice, startling both Ron and Harry. They whirled around. A very, very old woman was coming down the stairs, leaning on the nurse's arm. Ron's mouth fell open. She was surveying them austerely, dressed in old-fashioned, very fine clothing.

But, for all of this, it was obvious that she hadn't left the house in some time; she was barely able to walk, much less plan and commit a murder.

"We've learned to live with the occasional creaks and groans," said Wilma Crouch, as the nurse helped her into the sitting room and settled her in an armchair. "Thank you, Emily," she said. Harry and Ron, who was by now thoroughly confused as he stowed away his wand, sat down opposite her. "Would you make some tea?"

Emily, the nurse, nodded and hurried from the room.

"Emily tells me you've some questions for me," said Ms. Crouch, turning her sharp eyes on Harry and Ron.

"We're Aurors," Harry said. "We're investigating an attempted murder of a Ministry official."

"That poor Weasley woman," said Ms. Crouch, shaking her head. "Yes, I read about it in the papers." Then she narrowed her eyes. "And I assume that the Auror office is involved because of her personal connection to the two of you. Harry Potter, of course, and—ah, yes, you're Ronald Weasley, are you not?"

"Yes," Ron said rather rudely. He didn't at all like the way the woman's eyes lit up behind her spectacles when she said his name.

"Well, it certainly is nice to see that the three heroes of our world are still friends after all these years," Ms. Crouch said, sitting back in her chair. "And nicer to see that Mr. Weasley is taking an interest in his wife's case…Oh, forgive me," she said, when Ron made a furious noise. She picked up the newspaper beside her. "I was just reading about how you've been unavailable for comment and curiously absent from the hospital building. They don't sketch a flattering picture, Mr. Weasley."

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Harry silenced him with a look. He sat back, eyes narrowed.

"What is it that I can do for you, Mr. Potter?" Ms. Crouch asked, looking at Harry.

"Well, we'd like to know if you may have had a reason to be at the Leaky Cauldron the night that Mrs. Weasley was attacked," he said.

Ms. Crouch laughed. "I don't know why you would even ask," she said dismissively. "I haven't left my home in nearly two months. I am dying, you see."

Ron stared at her.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry said uncomfortably.

"Yes, it's quite inconvenient," said Ms. Crouch. "Be that as it may, however, I cannot leave my house, much less subject my weakened defenses to exposure. I was nowhere near the Leaky Cauldron that evening, and I cannot imagine where you would have gotten such an outlandish idea."

"But you had a house elf taken from you," Ron said suddenly. "You had an elf taken when you were inspected."

Ms. Crouch turned to him. "Yes, Mr. Weasley, I did. A _very_ faithful elf, whom I regret losing. However, the worst things do seem to happen to the least deserving people, and here we are. I understand Madam Weasley's bill perfectly. I was in violation of it, and the elf wished to be free, so I cannot bemoan my losses. At least not legally. Ah, thank you, Emily."

The nurse had returned with the tea tray. She set it on the coffee table and prepared a cup for Ms. Crouch, then offered biscuits to Harry and Ron, who both shook their heads.

"I think we've taken up enough of your time," said Harry, giving Ron a meaningful look. They both stood. "If you think of anything that might be able to help us, Ms. Crouch, please don't hesitate to send us an owl."

"Certainly," said Ms. Crouch coolly. "Good luck in your investigation, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. I hope your wife is well soon."

Ron repressed a shudder as he and Harry were shown out of the house.

* * *

"I _still_ say she knows more than she's let on," Ron insisted.

"Ron, there is _no_ evidence to suggest that she had anything to do with Hermione getting poisoned," Harry said. "I agree, she's a weird old bat but we have to face it, it was a dud."

It had been two days since their visit to Wilma Crouch's house, and Ron was becoming quite frustrated. Hermione's staff had misplaced the questionnaire and information on the elf that had been taken from the house, and it seemed that the lead they had attempted to follow was quickly becoming a dead end. To make matters worse, Hermione was still no better, although Terry Boot seemed intent on making Ron glad that she was no worse.

Ron himself hadn't slept or eaten in quite some time, though he was scarcely aware of it. What little time he spent away from work was usually spent at the hospital, where Hermione was being kept sedated for the most part, as she was in a great deal of pain. He had dropped in early that morning and found Rose sitting with Hermione; brief moments like that were quickly becoming the only times he ever saw his children.

The _Daily Prophet_, in the meantime, was causing even more trouble, and it was turning vicious. Every other day or so, an article would pop up about the "fruitless" and "misguided" investigations of the Ministry into Hermione's attack, and how the Auror office and Department of Magical Law Enforcement were showing little to no interest in catching the would-be assassin.

Ron and Harry's images were turning from distraught husband and concerned friend to bumbling, uncaring oafs without half an idea of what to do next. Ron was doing his best to keep this from Hermione, but it was difficult, when all she seemed to want to do at the rare times she was awake was read.

Overall, the atmosphere in the Auror office was growing tenser by the day; Howlers and hate mail were arriving with every post, demanding more action. Ron's robes were nearly set aflame by a particularly nasty cursed letter that managed to singe his hair as it rocketed off of its own accord. The entire magical community, it seemed, was desperate to find the one responsible for trying to kill Hermione, even if it meant beginning to level character assassinations and unfounded accusations of conspiracy.

"I definitely think she could've gone to the Cauldron if she wanted to," Ron insisted to Harry, tilting back in his chair. He knew it was hopeless to cling to the idea that Wilma Crouch could have had anything to do with Hermione, but it was the only lead, however weak, he had encountered. He couldn't let it go.

"I don't think so," Harry said. "You saw her, she's not well."

"She could've been lying, though," said Ron. "I mean, who's to say she wasn't?"

"Mr. Weasley?"

Harry and Ron both looked around. Alexandra Morris stood in the doorway of Harry's office. "There are two officers from Magical Law Enforcement here to see you, sir."

"Me?"

"Bring them in, please, Morris," said Harry.

Alexandra stepped aside, and a moment later, a middle-aged, paunchy wizard and a young, sharp-featured witch entered the room.

"Carlotta Revere," she said coolly, shaking Harry's hand first, then Ron's. "I've taken on the lead in _our_ investigation into Madam Weasley's poisoning."

"Your investigation?" Ron asked.

"We think it's important to have as many eyes as possible on the case," said the wizard, clearing his throat. He shook Ron's hand. "Tom Wilkes, by the way. We've just finished our sweep of the Leaky Cauldron."

"We turned in reports on everything we found there," said Harry, still frowning slightly. Ron was feeling distinctly on edge. "We wanted the Cauldron to re-open as quickly as possible, that's why we were the only ones to examine it. It's the only source of income for the Longbottoms."

"We know all about the couple who owns it, Mr. Potter," said Revere in a disdainful voice. "However, it's not your duty to determine when and how examinations conclude. The Leaky Cauldron will be free to re-open when we have collected _all_ of our evidence."

Her eyes were boring into Ron's as she said this. Now thoroughly disconcerted, he stood, shutting the door. "What's this about, then?" he asked, looking between the two officers.

Revere glanced at her partner for a moment, then back to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, our spells today revealed that you were present in the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron."

"Yeah, I was," Ron said hotly. "And so was Harry, but that was four days ago."

"That's true, Revere, we were questioning the house elves who work there," Harry cut in, giving Ron a warning look.

"You misunderstand me," Revere said loudly. "We can place you, Mr. Weasley, in the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron the night that your wife was attacked. Can you account for that?"

"No," Ron said, shocked. "Wait a moment, yes," he said suddenly. "I went out to the back alley to Disapparate. I'd left my briefcase here, at the office, and I needed to get it."

"Surely your briefcase would have been safe here overnight, Mr. Weasley?" asked Wilkes. "Why the urgency?"

"Well, I'd taken money out of Gringotts that morning, and I didn't want to leave it lying around." Ron looked desperately at Harry for help; Harry looked just as shocked as Ron felt.

"But again," said Wilkes. "Surely it would have been safe here."

"Look, it's just smart, isn't it?" Ron said angrily. "You don't leave money lying out."

"How much money?" asked Revere suddenly.

"What?" Ron stared at her.

"You say it was enough to make you want to ensure its safety," Revere said, as though she thought this were a very fishy thing to want to do. "How much was it, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron gaped at her. "I don't know. Fifty Galleons, maybe?"

"Quite a sum," commented Wilkes. "Why so much? That's hardly pocket change."

Ron turned scarlet.

"He was buying a birthday present for Hermione," Harry interrupted forcefully. "He'd been talking about it for a month. She's got her birthday coming in September, and Ron had her gift all planned out."

"What was this gift, then?" asked Revere, now glaring at Harry.

He fell silent. "I didn't know. Ron?"

Ron stared at the floor. "Bracelet," he mumbled.

"Didn't catch that, sorry," said Wilkes, not sounding very sorry at all.

"It was a bracelet," Ron said, sighing. "A private matter, between _me_ and _my wife_ and _not you_."

"Oh, so you've purchased it, have you?" asked Revere.

"No," Ron said, growing hot around the collar again. "Sorry, but I've been a bit busy, lately."

"So you mean to say that you've got fifty Galleons in your possession, which you haven't spent, but you expect us to believe it's for the purpose of buying your wife a birthday present…two months before her birthday," said Revere. She arched an eyebrow coldly. "You'll forgive me if I have a difficult time understanding that."

"You can't interrogate him for being a husband," Harry said violently.

"Wait, wait a moment." Ron held up a hand. The blood was rushing in his head, and he could feel his neck an ears glowing crimson. "Let me get this straight. You think," he said slowly, glaring at Revere and Wilkes, "that I tried to murder my wife for money? For our _own_ money?"

"Not necessarily your own, Mr. Weasley," said Revere. "Your wife recently received a rather substantial pay rise, did she not, for her work with the house elf task force? And with the fairly recent death of her mother, she inherited quite a bit of money as the only child, did she not?"

"What's that got to do with it?" Ron demanded.

"Your parents, Mr. Weasley," said Wilkes. "They are not wealthy, are they? You had very little growing up, did you not? I assume that they're getting on in years…"

"Sure, accuse my whole bloody family!" Ron bellowed.

"Ronald Weasley," said Revere suddenly, stepping forward and drawing her wand. "By order of the Ministry of Magic, you are hereby under arrest for—"

"What?" Harry roared, leaping up. "You can't do that!"

"Quiet, Mr. Potter, or we'll have you in as well. You can't bury evidence," said Wilkes coldly. "You'll be lucky if we don't have you up in your own trial."

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Harry," Ron said, looking desperately at him. "Harry, you know this is wrong! _Harry!_"

"You are hereby under arrest for the attempted murder of Hermione Weasley," said Revere. She flicked her wand, but Ron was quicker; he deflected her binding hex and tried to dodge around her.

"Stun him!" she yelled.

"_Stupefy!_"

And Ron knew no more.

* * *

"Hey."

"Hey," Ron muttered hoarsely. He didn't look up from staring at the food tray that had just been delivered through the bars of his holding cell.

"I talked to Rose and Hugo," Harry said, leaning against the door. "They've told Hermione you're held up at work."

"They think I did it?" Ron asked hollowly.

"How can you even think that?" asked Harry. "They're furious. I almost had to stop Rose from coming in here herself."

"All right, all right," Ron mumbled, still staring down at his feet. "Who else knows?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm keeping this as quiet as I can."

"Good luck with that," said Ron bitterly. "It'll be in the newspapers by tomorrow. I heard the guards talking."

At that moment, a guard who was meant to be keeping an eye on Ron ambled past, looking closely at both Ron and Harry before continuing on his way.

Harry dropped his voice. "What d'you mean?"

"The hearings start next week," Ron said. "It's just a matter of time till they've got me on trial. I'm the only suspect. They've got witnesses piling up, and I've got no one to defend me."

"That's not true, Ron," Harry said desperately. "Hannah, Neville—everyone, we can all give character witnesses, and they know you weren't doing anything in that kitchen. Don't give up, all right?"

"That Revere woman," Ron said, imitating her voice, "She says that, 'not only is it suspicious for you to have taken the wrong way out of the Leaky Cauldron, Mr. Weasley, you were the only one present when your wife took a turn for the worse the next day.'"

"Ron, you know that doesn't mean anything. They're just trying to look busy," Harry insisted. "Hermione's their Head of Department. It looks bad if they can't get anything done."

"Yeah, well, they look any busier, and they're going to throw me in Azkaban without a trial," Ron snapped, meeting Harry's eyes for the first time.

"No they're not," Harry said. "Listen, Ron, whatever happens, you've got to tell the truth. No matter what. They're going to twist your words, but you've got to stick to the truth, it's the only way you'll get out of here."

"Mr. Potter, we haven't given clearance for anyone to visit Mr. Weasley," said an icy female voice. Ron didn't need to look to know that it was Carlotta Revere.

Harry fixed her with a hard stare. "I'm a head of department, Revere," he said, equally cold. "I don't need clearance to do anything from members of the _staff_."

Carlotta said nothing, but Harry turned to Ron. "I'll see you tomorrow," he promised pointedly.

Ron nodded once, and watched from the corner of his eye as Harry walked away, only to be replaced by Carlotta Revere.

"Are you ready to be a bit more helpful, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, in what she clearly felt was a kind and understanding voice. Ron was having hard time not shouting at her.

"Fine," he muttered. Revere tapped the cell door with her wand and came in, giving him a cool smile.


	5. Chapter 5

True to his word, Harry came to the holding cells beneath the Ministry every day to see Ron, whose patience was waning quickly. After telling and retelling his story a dozen or so times, he had stopped caring about civility or staying calm. He wanted nothing more than to walk out of the cell, free and clear, and it was plain that neither Revere nor Wilkes was willing to let this happen.

Ron's arrest had, of course, made sensational headlines, and the buildup to the trial was quickly becoming overwhelming. Hermione, Harry reported, had found out that Ron was being imprisoned, and was quite literally worried sick. Harry didn't have to say that she was doing very poorly for Ron to read it in his face.

Meanwhile, the rest of the family was up at arms, furious and astonished at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's despicable treatment of Ron. Harry, doubtlessly in an attempt to cheer him, said that he was having a difficult time restraining Molly and Arthur from coming down and breaking him out of his cell, and reported that Kingsley Shacklebolt and many others within the Ministry were adding their names to the rapidly-growing list of character witnesses in Ron's defense.

But even having Kingsley Shacklebolt on his side had limited power. Ron was seriously regretting his support of the post-war bill that had taken away the abilities of the Minister of Magic to override other Departments without a full inquiry by the Wizengamot.

It was to general amazement that there was a small but fierce portion of the wizarding community that did not share their shock and horror. Feeding upon conspiracy theories and panic among Hermione's supporters, the _Daily Prophet_ had stopped painting Ron as a hero suffering unfairly at the hands of fate and started in on him as a rags-to-riches would-be assassin, ready to do anything it took to further his station at the Ministry (they drew attention to his quick rise through the Auror office) and dissatisfied to linger in the shadows of his Muggleborn wife's success.

"They're just trying to stir trouble and sell papers," Harry assured him. "There is _no case_, and Revere knows it, if the Minister of Magic is publicly taking your side. People are angry, though, and she's taking advantage of the _Prophet_ because they want to report that they know something."

He was quite correct. Carlotta Revere's name appeared in many quoted articles in the days leading up to the preliminary hearings, which would determine whether or not a criminal trial was necessary.

For his defense, Ron had been assigned an officer of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Wilbur Lisle, to represent him in the hearing, but it seemed unlikely that this would help much. The Department was getting endless amounts of attention and glory in their efforts to win justice for their celebrated head, and Ron wouldn't put it past them to put in only half the work needed to defend him if the alternative meant success in their mission. Instead, he devoted his time to making sure there was no way to prove that he had ever tried to hurt Hermione.

One week after his arrest, his defender arrived in his cell early in the morning.

"Time to go," said Lisle, looking eager to begin. "You look sharp," he assured Ron, who had been given a razor and a set of robes so that he might change his clothing and clean up his appearance before the trial.

Ron scoffed and stood, getting to his feet.

"The truth," said Lisle. "That's key, you know."

Ron fought the urge to punch his smug face as two burly security guards down the corridor led them to the courtroom. Inside, the entire Wizengamot had already taken their seats. Ron looked into the seats around them; Harry, Hannah, and Neville sat in the witnesses' chairs, while Rose sat a few seats over, watching her father anxiously, and as Ron's eyes slid over to the seat beside her, his heart gave an odd, twisting, sinking feeling. Minerva McGonagall was watching him, her lips thin and her face pale as she ran her hands nervously over her walking stick.

He groaned inwardly. Why had Rose brought her here? Ron rubbed his eyes, drawing a deep breath.

Three knocks from the gavel drew the room's attention to Alastair Bonneville, the member of the Wizengamot who was presiding over the proceedings. "The Wizengamot calls to order the preliminary hearings for Mr. Ronald Weasley," he said, looking at someone standing over Ron's shoulder. "Madam Revere, inspector on behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you may begin."

Ron's heart sank as Revere strode forward, staring impressively around the room. "Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot…"

Overall, for the first day of hearings, it could have gone worse. All the same, there were still several sticky moments, that made Ron impossibly nervous despite the fact that he knew he shouldn't have been worried at all.

The first came when Hannah said that she couldn't remember Ron ordering any drink at all at the Cauldron that night.

"Nothing, Mrs. Longbottom?" asked Revere. "Come, now, surely that's odd behavior in a bar, of all places."

"Just because I don't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen," Hannah said stoutly. "And besides, plenty of people come into my pub and order nothing."

"Do they?" Revere asked, a note of amusement in her voice. Hannah scowled.

The next problem came when it was Neville's turn to speak.

"Yeah, I said Ron could go through the kitchen to the side of the building," he said defensively, eyeing Revere. "The usual alley was spattered with vomit from some kid, I wasn't about to send someone out to step in it, and we don't allow anyone to Apparate in or out of the bar or kitchen."

"But you didn't watch Mr. Weasley leave, did you, Mr. Longbottom?" Revere asked in a cold voice.

"No, I didn't," Neville snapped. "I didn't need to. Ron would never hurt Hermione, ever."

"This isn't a character reference, Mr. Longbottom, that's quite enough," said Revere sharply.

But worst of all was Harry's time on the stand. Revere seemed determined to make him crack, throwing him confusing and jumbled questions undoubtedly in the hope that he would suddenly explode and confess everything she wanted to hear.

"You say Mr. Weasley wanted you to come to dinner?"

"With my wife," Harry agreed stiffly.

"And yet he turned up at your office. Was he surprised to see you still at work?" Revere asked.

"No."

"No?"

"I believe that's what I said," said Harry sharply. "Was there another question you had in mind, or shall I tell you what I'd eaten for breakfast that day, too?"

By the end of it all, Ron was still trying to make sense of whether Revere or Harry had won, and he was being returned forcibly to his cell.

"You'll speak tomorrow," promised Lisle, giving him a jaunty wave before disappearing up the corridor.

Ron let out a sigh of endless frustration and sat down on the bed in his cell, running his hands through his hair furiously.

"Dad," said a soft voice.

Ron leapt up; Rose was standing outside the bars of his cell, holding one hand out to him. He rushed forward and took it. "Rose, you shouldn't be here," he said.

"We wanted to see you," said Minerva's voice. Ron pressed up against the bars. He could just see Minerva coming down the corridor with Harry.

"I didn't know you were coming," Ron said apologetically. "You didn't have to."

"Hermione asked Hugo to write to me," Minerva said. She looked at Harry and Rose, her face white and tense, her expression very worried. "I wish I'd been here sooner."

"There's nothing you could've done," Ron said.

"Ron, if it's any consolation, none of the stuff Revere was bringing up today is anything other than circumstantial evidence. Kingsley is furious, he's giving an interview right now to the _Daily Prophet_ to vouch for you," Harry said. "You'll get your turn tomorrow, and you'll show them you can't have done this."

Ron gave a humorless smile as Rose squeezed his hand. "All circumstantial. Right, except for their bloody charms that prove I was in that kitchen."

"Dad," Rose said, horrified. "Don't say that."

"No," Ron said, shaking his head. "Sorry."

There were several beats of silence, during which the guard standing just down the corridor cleared his throat. "Five minutes, Mr. Potter," he warned.

Ron sighed. "You'd better go. See your mum," he told Rose. "Tell her not to worry about me."

"That'll work," Rose said, smiling rather sadly. She squeezed Ron's hand. "I'm staying with her tomorrow. Hopefully I can keep her away from the newspaper. Hugo's coming here to support you."

"Thanks, Rosie," Ron managed, swallowing a lump in his throat. He looked to Harry. "Hold down the fort, all right, mate?"

"I'll be back later," Harry promised. "I'm still scouring Hermione's files. I'll let you know if I come up with anything."

"Anything _else_," Ron corrected, but Harry gave him a look that plainly said they weren't going to discuss Wilma Crouch or their disagreement surrounding her in front of Rose or Minerva. Ron sighed again. "Minerva, anything you need, a place to stay, anything—it's on us. Rosie can get the key to the bank vault."

"Nonsense," Minerva said, shaking her head; she sounded stuffy, as though she had a sudden head cold. "I pride myself on having good enough relations with my former students to earn a night or two at the Leaky Cauldron, even if it is closed." She paused, looking around at Rose and Harry. "May I have a moment?" she asked.

Rose nodded, and allowed Harry to lead her away from the cell. Minerva drew a deep breath and faced Ron.

"Rose and Hugo are worried about you," she said. "So is Hermione."

Ron stared at her. "Do you think I don't know that?" he asked rather rudely. "Don't you think if I could do something about it, I would?"

"I'm not saying that you must do something about it, or that there even is anything to be done," Minerva said calmly. She stepped forward and, rather awkwardly, placed a hand on Ron's, which was resting on the bars before him. "I only want you to know that while I'm here, _you_ needn't be so worried."

Ron stared at Minerva. If her hair hadn't been pure white, and her face quite lined, Ron had the distinct impression that her sharp, square-spectacled gaze could have been watching him from behind a desk in his old Transfiguration classroom.

"I'll help wherever I can," she said in a much stronger voice. "I'll stay with Hermione."

"Minerva, you don't need to do that, you're—" Ron trailed off. He did not want to say "too old," but Minerva seemed to guess what he meant.

"Don't argue," she said sharply, drawing herself up. She tapped her walking stick on the ground impatiently. "I'll help any way I can, and that's final."

"Ms. McGonagall, I have to ask you to leave," said the guard. Ron started; he had almost forgotten that he was there.

Minerva nodded, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to the hospital," she said to Ron.

"Thanks," he answered quietly. "I mean it, anything you need, just ask Rose."

Minerva was already walking away, disappearing up the corridor the way that Harry and Rose had disappeared. Ron heaved a sigh and dropped onto his bed, rubbing his face hard and running his fingers through his hair.

He wondered briefly if he was going mad. Frustration, anger, and above all, fear, were coursing through him, and he certainly felt as though he had lost all control of his life. He was hungrier and more tired than he ever had been, but he didn't think he could eat a thing or go to sleep when he felt this miserable.

Well, perhaps that was untrue, he thought, rubbing his eyes, which were sore and, he was sure, quite red. He lay back on the bed, repeating to himself what he would say tomorrow.

Slowly, irrepressibly, his eyes began to close.

* * *

The second day of the hearings followed the same rocky, uneven path, and the third was even more unsettling. As these were not yet the real trial, and merely hearings to determine whether a trial was necessary, Ron found himself telling and retelling the events of the evening at the Leaky Cauldron. Each time, it was worse; his temper was wearing thin, and it was becoming painful to have to watch Rose, Hugo, or Minerva in the crowd of reporters and Ministry workers that filled the courtroom.

Not only did he have them to worry about, Ron was also faced with the forceful presence of Carlotta Revere. Deprived of any concrete evidence that Ron knew anything about the poison or how it had gotten into the bottle, Revere seemed to be trying to secure a trial based solely on circumstantial evidence.

On the fourth day of the hearing, it was Ron who spent most of the day being questioned by Carlotta Revere.

"You admit, do you not, Mr. Weasley, to being in the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron moments before your wife was poisoned?" she asked.

Ron grit his teeth. "Yes," he said.

"And why is it that you were in that kitchen? You are not an employee. There was no reason for you to be there," Revere said coolly.

"As I've already said, and so has Neville, the back alley was blocked off. I used the kitchen door to get out to the side," Ron snarled.

Revere continued loudly, "And you were alone with your wife in the hospital, weren't you? The night when her Healer claims, and I quote, 'Madam Weasley's condition took a surprising turn for the worse, owing to an unexpected reaction to the poison that had not been detected and counteracted earlier.'"

"I was," said Ron testily. He felt Hugo's and Minerva's eyes on him, and shifted uncomfortably. "I was told that the Healers didn't recognize the poison she was given, so they were unprepared for what happened."

"It's a very unusual poison, isn't it, Mr. Weasley?" Revere asked quietly, her pale eyes fixed on his.

Ron stared. "Well, I guess it must be, if it was _unrecognizable_."

"It would take someone with a great deal of power, not to mention access to a great many dangerous poisons, to effectively hide an attempt at murder, wouldn't it?" asked Revere.

"Meaning what?" Ron demanded hotly.

"Meaning that many rare and dangerous poisons are studied here, within the Ministry itself," said Revere. "Someone with the appropriate clearance and training in stealth and tracking, for instance, would easily be able to obtain a sample or two—"

"That's speculation, Miss Revere," said Lisle suddenly, standing up. "There's no evidence to suggest that the poison in question came from within the Ministry. It could have been created specifically for this purpose by the outside assailant."

"Understood, Mr. Lisle," called Alastair Bonneville. The damage, however, was done; Ron could see Revere's statement had surprised members of the Wizengamot. "Miss Revere, proceed."

"No questions, sir," said Revere calmly. She turned her back on Ron and marched back to her desk.

"Mr. Lisle?"

Ron looked to Lisle, who shook his head. A knot twisted and tightened in Ron's stomach.

"Mr. Weasley, please stand," said Bonneville. Ron obeyed, feeling intensely scrutinized. The courtroom, as yesterday, was filled to the brim with reporters and Ministry employees. In the corner of his eye, Ron saw Harry shift nervously in his seat; Minerva was clutching her walking stick with white-knuckled hands and Hugo looked rather green. "As yet, the Wizengamot can make no ruling as to your guilt. That would be determined in a full trial. Miss Revere, I expressed to you my reservations with going on in this preliminary trial. Hearing the evidence I have heard, I can make no definitive conviction to pursue a full trial."

Ron's heart leapt, and he saw Hugo sit forward suddenly out of the corner of his eye.

"We will hold Mr. Weasley here, until such time as the Wizengamot has deliberated further. At noon tomorrow, we shall reach an agreement upon appropriate measures," Bonneville concluded. He banged his gavel, and muttering broke out all over the room. Camera flashes went off in Ron's face, and he could dimly hear reporters shouting questions at him, but his brain seemed to have turned down the volume on the world around him.

Painfully, inexorably, Ron felt himself being led away by the two security guards again, cameras still flashing in every direction around him.

"Ron!"

He turned. Harry was reaching out for him, patting his shoulder. "It'll be all right, Ron! I promise!" he said, and Ron nodded vaguely. Harry's face was disappearing into the crowd.

"Look after Hermione," Ron said automatically, and he faced front again, not looking back as he was pulled from the courtroom.

Ron sat in his cell, alone but for the security guard who paced slowly past him every minute or so. Try as he might to think otherwise, he was having a hard time believing that he was going to stand trial for attempting Hermione's murder. And questioning by the Wizengamot was surely going to be a lot different than having to face Carlotta Revere.

How could this be happening? Was there no one with enough power to stop this who knew he would never, ever be capable of hurting Hermione? Was he going to have to see his children's faces as they watched him be taken to Azkaban, possibly for the rest of his life?

Nightmare scenarios chased themselves around his mind, one after the other, until he felt nauseated and more frightened than he had been in many years. And then, slowly, irrepressibly, the image that he had been trying to keep away from himself for over a week burst to the front of his mind. It was Hermione, lying alone in the hospital, waiting for him to come back.

Ron dug his palms into his eyes. The image was burned into his brain; she was painfully sad, and he felt as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

For the first time ever, the icy cold truth clutched his whole body. In one terrible moment, he realized that it was very likely that he would never see Hermione again. Either he would be taken to Azkaban, or—and this was like a blow to the stomach—she would die before he was set free.

Ron bit down hard on his knuckles, drawing blood so as to stop himself from sobbing out loud. He sank onto the bed, hunched over to muffle the sounds of his tears.

* * *

The next time Ron woke, it was early morning, and he was lying on his sofa in his own home. To his great surprise, Hermione was sitting beside him, smiling as she ran a hand through his hair. He grinned up at her.

"You're all right," he said happily.

Hermione leaned over and kissed him. Ron closed his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She was alive, and here, and warm, and he was never going to let her go again. Then, Hermione ended the kiss rather abruptly. She sat up, still smiling. Ron reached for her again, but Hermione got up, walking away from the couch towards the front door.

"Hang on," Ron said. "Where are you going? Hermione?" He leapt to his feet and hurried after her. "Hermione!" he shouted as she crossed the garden. She turned at the gate and waved.

Ron felt a thrill of inexplicable terror. She was in terrible danger, and she did not know it. He started forward, trying to catch her before she left the gate.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

A flash of brilliant green light hit Hermione squarely in the back, and she crumpled. Ron whirled around. Bellatrix Lestrange stood behind him, laughing like a maniac. She threw her head back, laughing cruelly as Ron ran to Hermione, scooping her into his arms. She was not moving, not breathing, but her eyes were wide open in terror.

Ron screwed his eyes shut, pulling Hermione closer to him, and let out a yell that mingled with Bellatrix's laughter. Then, someone was trying to pull Hermione from him—he struck out—

"Ron, stop it! Ouch!"

"Mr. Potter!"

"I'b fide—I'b fide."

Suddenly, Ron's eyes opened. He was in his cell in the Ministry, and it was easily the middle of the night. Two dark shapes stood over him. A wand tip ignited. Alexandra Morris stood near the cell door, biting her lip as she held her wand aloft. Harry stood directly above him, frowning as he pinched his nose, which was bleeding.

Ron winced. "Sorry, mate," he said hoarsely, sitting up. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"

"_Episkey_," said Alexandra, and with a nasty cracking sound, Harry's nose mended. He rubbed it gingerly and faced Ron.

"You're being released," he said.

Ron's heart leapt and he jumped to his feet. Then he stopped. Rather than looking elated, Harry had a very grim expression on his face.

"What?" Ron asked ominously.

"They've ruled you out as a suspect," said Harry, taking a breath, "Because Hermione's taken another turn for the worse."

Ron's stomach plummeted through the stone floor.

"Revere's best evidence was what happened the other morning, when you were alone with her," Harry explained, putting a bracing hand on Ron's arm. "Now that it's happened again, Kingsley and I've gotten the charges dropped. The Wizengamot is going to reject the trial, and Kingsley's getting Revere to give you a full pardon and apology right now."

Ron felt dizzy and weak at the knees. "I have to get to the hospital."

To Ron's great comfort, Harry leapt into action. "I'm coming with you. Ginny and Minerva are there, waiting for the kids." He withdrew Ron's wand from his pocket, and Ron accepted it. Alexandra started to lead the way out of the cell, but Ron numbly put his arm on Harry's elbow.

"Wait, Hermione's wand. I had it when they arrested me."

"I've got it," said Harry, producing it from his pocket as well. "Come _on_, Ron."

"Is she alive?" Ron asked hoarsely.

Harry paused. "I…I don't know."


	6. Chapter 6

Rose, Hugo, Minerva, and Ginny were waiting for Harry and Ron when they arrived; they were, once again, in the emergency care ward, and the waiting room was crowded despite the late hour. Hugo was pacing back and forth, his eyes very red. Rose and Minerva were on the waiting area's sofa; Rose had her head resting against Minerva's shoulder, tears streaming down her face, while Minerva seemed simply lost for words. She stared blankly straight ahead.

When they entered the ward doors, Ginny ran into Ron's arms.

"What's happened?" Ron asked, as she nearly strangled him. "She's not—"

"She's alive," Ginny promised, though her chin trembled. "Minerva and I were visiting, and she suddenly said her chest hurt, and that was it. No warning at all."

Minerva made a sudden noise that could have been a dry sob.

"She's unconscious," Ginny explained. She looked over her shoulder to the door of Hermione's room. "It's been over an hour…Terry said he'd be out to talk to us in a minute."

Ron felt ill. He was uncomfortably aware of the number of people also in the waiting area, who were whispering behind their hands and pointing as they began to recognize who Ron and Harry were. Ginny, who seemed equally aware of this, put an arm around Ron's shoulders and turned him away from the rest of the room.

"You're out for good, aren't you?" she asked quietly. "They don't suspect you?"

"They can't," mumbled Ron. "They thought they could...I dunno, prove I'd tried again when I was alone with her, you know? With this…well, Harry managed it." He swallowed hard, furious. "It's all my fault, too. If I'd been smarter, I wouldn't have been arrested. She wouldn't have gotten this bad."

"Ron, this is not your fault," Ginny said fiercely. "They shouldn't have arrested you, that's true, but it's not your fault that they did. And it's not your fault, what's happened to Hermione."

Ron stared at the dazzling white tiled floors and blinked hard, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel himself flushing red.

Ginny put a hand on his back. "Ron, it'll be okay."

"Can you all stop saying that, please?" Ron asked quietly. Ginny closed her mouth.

"Terry!"

Ron spun. Terry Boot, looking exhausted, had emerged from a treatment room, and was approaching Ron and Harry, a grave expression on his face. He stopped, suddenly seeming to register Ron's presence, and stared at Minerva, Rose, and Hugo, who had all risen. He took in the great number of people in the waiting room who had stopped their own conversations to see what was happening. Ron could tell they had guessed that the patient was Hermione, and Terry seemed to realize the same thing.

He beckoned to them all, led them down a narrow corridor to a comfortable-looking office, and shut the door.

"Healer Boot," Rose began. "Please, what's happening?"

Terry took a deep breath. "We've managed to help her. She's stable, for now."

Minerva sat down suddenly; Rose squeezed her shoulder. Ron's stomach seemed to unclench, and a tiny glimmer of hope had taken up residence in his heart.

"What happened?" he asked.

"She stopped being able to breathe," Terry said gently. Hugo gave a kind of involuntary twitch. "We've done another adjustment on the potions we're giving her."

"Potions?" Hugo asked. "Why aren't you giving her an antidote?"

"Well, as I've said to your father, we're doing our best with that, but it's difficult without a clean sample of the poison," Terry answered.

Rose and Hugo both looked at Ron. "What's he talking about, Dad?" Rose asked.

Ron stared between them. "Nothing, just that we're still trying to find a good sample," he stammered.

"Wait, she hasn't gotten an antidote?" Hugo asked incredulously.

"We need to synthesize a better one," Terry insisted. "Our only samples of the original poison are contaminated."

Rose shook her head, one hand over her mouth, and turned away.

"So what does this mean? Is she all right?" Hugo asked.

"She's fighting hard," Terry said. "But I'm concerned that unless she starts improving soon, another attack like this could finish her," he said gently.

Hugo went ashen and sank into a waiting room chair beside Rose. Ron closed his eyes.

"I'm going to the treatment rooms to work on a new antidote," Terry said, when no one else spoke. He seemed very aware that a great deal of tension was building in the air. "I think you've all got some things to discuss. You can stay here. I'll come and get you when Hermione wakes, and you can see her for a minute."

Ron nodded mutely, and Terry left the office. Harry, who had his arm around Ginny, cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"I think I ought to return to the Leaky Cauldron," said Minerva, who seemed to have recovered herself. "I'll wait there to hear from you." She stood and nodded to the door, indicating that she, Harry, and Ginny should leave. Ginny gave Ron a hurried peck on the cheek, and, unable to hide her tears any longer, dashed out of the office, mumbling something about helping Minerva.

Harry followed her, but stopped and cleared his throat again in the doorway. "I'm going back to the Ministry for a bit, Ron. I need to finalize your papers and order another search of the Cauldron."

Ron nodded again, feeling a pang for the extra work it must have meant for Harry to get him released. Then the office door shut, and he was alone with Rose and Hugo.

"Dad," Rose said quietly. "I…I know that…well, there hasn't…been time, but what haven't you told us? Did you know they still haven't been able to help her?"

Ron looked up at her, and then at Hugo, who was staring at him. Both had very red eyes. Rose looked on the verge of tears again. He could not lie. "Yes, sweetheart. I did."

Rose's chin trembled, and she nodded once, slowly. "Did you know before you were arrested?"

Ron swallowed a lump in his throat. "Yes. For a couple of days."

"Oh, Dad," Hugo said in frustration, turning away from him. "Why wouldn't you tell us what was happening? We're not children, we deserve to know if our mother is dying!"

"Hugo!" Rose snapped.

"She is!" Hugo cried, tears in his voice. He turned anguished eyes on Ron. "She is, and you didn't tell us."

"And I'm sorry," Ron said hoarsely.

"What d'you think 'finish' means, Dad?" Hugo demanded incredulously. "Does Mum at least know? Did you bother telling her?" He gestured in the direction of the waiting room.

"Hugo, stop it," Rose said fiercely, placing herself between them. "Dad did what he thought was best. It's going to be fine, so just calm down." Hugo dropped his shoulders, heaving a sigh. She looked at Ron. "Dad, why don't you let me stay here tonight? You look like you need sleep. You too, Hugo. I'll stay the night, and then Hugo, you can take over in the morning."

"No," Ron interrupted. "I'll stay tonight, if Terry will let me. She's going to be upset enough, and…I'd like to see her," he added gruffly.

Neither Rose nor Hugo spoke. "All right," said Rose after a moment. "We'll all stay, just until she's awake…and then I'll come back in the morning," she promised, kissing his cheek. Ron hugged her, then turned to Hugo.

"We were just trying to protect you," he said firmly. Hugo nodded.

"I'll come back tomorrow afternoon," he mumbled. Ron hugged him tightly, and the three of them left Terry's office to wait for word of Hermione.

Fortunately, however, it was not long that they sat in the waiting room before a kind-faced, older nurse approached Ron.

"Mr. Weasley?"

He stood immediately.

"Your wife is in a room in the critical care ward," said the nurse. She eyed Rose and Hugo, who had risen as well. "You may wait there, if you like. She'll be waking soon."

The nurse led Ron up two floors to a private room at the back of the ward and showed them in. Ron felt his heart stop. Hermione lay in the bed, pale and sick, and the only thing Ron could think as he looked at her was, _how could she possibly be alive?_

Rose and Hugo seemed less perturbed by Hermione's pallor, perhaps because they were used to it, whereas Ron had been locked away for days. At any rate, they settled themselves into chairs around the bed.

"Keep things quiet," the nurse advised as she left, starting to close the door. "We'll be keeping an eye on her."

Seating himself opposite Rose and Hugo, Ron took Hermione's hand in his own. She was ice-cold. He wrapped his fingers more tightly around hers. The three of them spent more than an hour silently watching Hermione; they sat up tensely every now and then, when she would wince and seem to start waking up before quickly falling back to sleep.

It wasn't until well after midnight that Hermione finally opened her eyes and looked around her. She quickly found Rose, who was closest to her, and smiled faintly.

"Hi," Rose said gently, her chin trembling. She sat forward, smoothing Hermione's hair back. "Hi, Mummy…how do you feel?"

Hermione blinked slowly. "I'll be…all right…"

"Look who's here, Mum," said Hugo softly, nodding to Ron, who sat up, squeezing Hermione's hand.

Hermione turned her head to look on Ron. She frowned, plainly confused. "How…many…pain potions…have…I…had?" she asked, sounding a bit more like herself: very skeptical.

Ron couldn't help it. He broke into a wide, tremulous smile. "I'm here," he said. "It's all fine, I promise, everything's going to be okay, now."

Hermione's lip was quivering. "You're—here," she whimpered, as tears began to fill her eyes.

"Shh, Mum," Rose said gently, smoothing Hermione's hair again. "Mum, it's all right. Please be careful."

Hermione was clinging tightly to Ron's fingers, unable to stop her tears. "Are—you—free?"

Ron nodded hurriedly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Mrs. Weasley." Another nurse had appeared in a great hurry, looking around at Ron, Rose and Hugo. "Please," she said to them. "I need to ask you to leave, just for a moment," she said, at the look on Ron's face. She was holding Hermione's wrist and glancing down at her own watch. "She'll be fine, we just need to get her comfortable."

Hermione looked inexpressibly upset that Ron was leaving, but he obeyed the nurse, followed by Rose and Hugo. The three of them stood together in the corridor for a moment, without saying a word until, quite suddenly, Hugo threw his arms tightly around Rose and Ron.

Rose sniffled quietly against Ron's shoulder. He embraced her more closely. When she had recovered, she looked up at Hugo. "I…I think we'd better go, Hugo," she said quietly. "We can come back in the morning, all right?"

Hugo nodded silently, rubbing his nose. Ron patted his back, but said nothing. Rose and Hugo left together, waving once before the ward doors swung shut after them. At that moment, the nurse came out of Hermione's room.

"Keep her calm," she said politely, but very firmly. Ron nodded and slowly walked back in to the room. The lights had been lowered a bit, presumably to help Hermione relax.

Hermione lay in the bed, eyes only half-open, but she smiled when she saw Ron. "I'm…definitely…not…seeing things…then?" she asked.

Ron laughed and shook his head. "No. No, I'm here." He sat down and took her hand. "How do you feel?"

Hermione sighed gently, touching one hand to her breastbone and wincing. "I'm all…right. Was I…hit…with…a Bludger?"

Ron smiled slightly. "No, but you scared us all out of our wits."

"You…sound like…your mother," Hermione quipped, and she seemed to light up a bit when Ron laughed. "How…how did…you…get here?" She drew another slow breath and held his hand tighter.

Ron felt his smile grow tight, and he fought a lump in his throat. He reached out and smoothed Hermione's hair on her pillow. "They've dropped the charges."

"Why?"

Ron sighed. "They…can't suspect me anymore." Hermione frowned, but Ron interrupted. "I'll tell you later," he promised.

"Hmm." Hermione looked pained and closed her eyes. "I'll be…having a word…with…Revere."

Ron gave a soft chuckle. "So you _have_ been reading the papers."

"I've been…trying…to…get…that…witch…out of…my department for…for _years_," she said, shaking her head slightly. "She…wants…to…replace me…"

This stirred something in Ron. "Hermione?"

"Mm?"

"Hugo and Rose, they know everything that's…happened…with you…" He trailed off as Hermione opened her eyes, looking hurt, but resigned.

"I…thought…so," she said. "I…I'd hoped…"

"I know," Ron said, squeezing her hand. "I'm sorry."

Hermione drew a painful, shuddering breath. "I'm…just…glad…you're here." She squeezed Ron's hand gently. "Ron…"

"Yeah?"

"Will you…tell…the family? Can…you…bring them…to…see me? I…want…to see…all of them…"

Ron's heart sank. "Hermione, you're not going to—"

"I want…to be…ready," she said breathlessly, holding his hand tightly. "Just…in case…" Her eyes began to close again, and Ron could tell she was falling asleep. He bit back a painful lump in his throat. He knew that if it was the last thing he ever did, he had to save Hermione. And perhaps it was cowardice that stopped him from getting up and returning to his office immediately—cowardice at the idea that she might not be there when her finally came back—but at this precise moment…he couldn't leave her.


	7. Chapter 7

Brace yourselves.

* * *

Rather than return to work, Ron spent the better part of the next two days with Hermione at the hospital. Though she was still rather ill, she seemed to improve most when he was with her; she didn't ask for pain medicine, slept peacefully on her own, and even had it in her to drink a few sips of weak tea. Rose, Hugo, and even Minerva took it in turns to come by every couple of hours with food for Ron, a newspaper, and other small items. It lightened Ron's heart to hear Hermione tease him good-naturedly when Rose brought a shaving kit and a bar of soap for him.

"You…need it," she said slowly, wrinkling her nose a bit.

She even had energy enough at one point to read the newspaper, which was now filled with applause for Kingsley Shacklebolt and Harry Potter, who had been "strong, unwavering voices in support of Mr. Weasley's innocence," and she asked Hugo to bring her the book she had left on her nightstand at home. "I'll…forget…where I was," she told Ron, who rolled his eyes. She swatted gently at him.

It was the first time since Hermione had been poisoned that Ron had felt she was going to get better without needing an antidote. He began arranging visits with his brothers and parents, who would be allowed to see Hermione if she could be moved from critical care. He should have realized, he thought later, that this was overly optimistic.

"Good afternoon," said Minerva's voice. Ron turned; she was leaning in the doorway, carrying a newspaper and a brown paper bag. She limped in the room, and Ron frowned. It seemed she was a bit sore today, and he felt yet another twinge of guilt for allowing her to remain away from her home for Hermione's sake. He got up and took the bag she offered him, thanking her for lunch.

"How is she?" Minerva asked, sinking down in a chair opposite Ron's.

"She's been asleep for a while," Ron said. "But I talked to her for a bit this morning."

Minerva frowned, looking closely at Hermione, who was soundly sleeping in the bed. "She looks pale."

Ron, however, was studying Minerva. "Are _you_ all right?" he asked. "It's not that I don't want you here, but you've got to have things you'd rather be doing. I don't want to keep you from your life."

Minerva shook her head sharply, not removing her eyes from Hermione. "I know how quickly things like this can go wrong," she said firmly. "I'll stay and help, as long as I'm not in the way."

Ron's heart clenched; he remembered the first time he had ever heard the story of Minerva's ill-fated marriage all too clearly. Her husband's premature death had come from an accidental Venomous Tentacula bite. "No," he said softly. "N-never mind. I appreciate it."

Minerva seemed suddenly uncomfortable, as though she had guessed what Ron was thinking of. She got to her feet and picked up her walking stick. "I think I'll come back tomorrow. Will you tell her I stopped by?"

"Ron?" Hermione was stirring slightly. She opened her eyes, frowning, and saw Minerva. She tried to smile at her, but suddenly, her hand flew to her breastbone.

"Hermione," Ron said sharply, rising. "Hermione?"

"My—chest," Hermione gasped.

Minerva moved with surprising speed to fling open the door, just as two nurses and a Healer came barreling into the room, with Terry on their heels.

"Out of here, please, Mr. Weasley," said one of the nurses. "Ms. McGonagall, you as well."

Ron was panicking. "What's happening?" But Minerva was pulling him by the arm, and he could no longer see Hermione, obscured from his view by the many nurses crowded around her.

"She was talking," Ron kept saying. "She was fine, she's been getting better!"

"This is just what happened the other night," Minerva said in a low voice. She looked extremely nervous.

"It's all right," Ron said firmly, though this was like a knife in his heart. "It's—it's happened before." But a nasty, niggling memory of Terry was hanging in the back of his mind; _another attack could finish her_…it played as if on a loop in the forefront of his mind. He and Minerva stood in the waiting area outside the ward doors, waiting for a sign of a Healer for nearly ten minutes. Nurses and Healers, Terry among them, rushed in and out of the room, some carrying potions, others carrying blankets, and all looking extremely tense.

At long last, Terry emerged, approaching Ron and Minerva with a grave expression.

"Don't say it," Ron muttered to himself. Minerva gripped his arm for a moment.

"She's alive," Terry said, and Minerva let out a strangled gasp. "But she's unconscious, and not responding to us."

"What…what does that mean?" Ron asked.

"Before, we've been able to get her to react to us, even if she didn't wake." Terry shook his head. "I warned you of this. We can't wake her up. I'm sorry, Ron."

* * *

Ginny had not cried in front of Ron in a very long time; even Harry seemed taken aback when she gave a dry sob and left the sofa in their sitting room, striding over to stare out of the window.

"Have you told Rose and Hugo?" Harry asked gruffly, swallowing hard.

Ron rubbed his nose, looking away from him. "Yeah, I have. They're at the house with Minerva."

Ginny took a shuddering breath and faced them, fighting to regain control of herself. "We'll tell Mum and Dad, won't we, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "If you want us to, mate."

Ron stared down at the floor. "There's still a chance she'll be all right," he said quietly, looking up at Harry. "If we can get that poison, maybe…I don't know."

"You said Terry didn't think—"

"Shut up, Harry," Ginny said suddenly. Harry looked startled, but Ron actually gave a dismal snort of laughter. Ginny, however, had a rather manic look in her eye. "Go back to the Cauldron. You know Hannah and Neville will do anything for you. Tell them everything, talk to them, talk to the people in the bar—talk to the house-elves!" She hurried over. "Don't give up on Hermione, please, _please_."

Ron was taken aback by this; it was a foolish hope that he had voiced, nothing more. "Ginny, it's not a question of giving up."

"Like hell it isn't!" Ginny thundered.

"Maybe she's right, Ron," Harry said suddenly. "We could just stop over there…"

"We're not going anywhere," interrupted Ron harshly. "I'm going back to the hospital. No, it won't do much good," he added, when Ginny opened her mouth. "But I'm going to be there if—" He broke off and stood suddenly. He cleared his throat, and his voice was no longer shaking. "If my wife dies, I'm going to be there with her. I won't let her go alone."

"Ron," Harry said, trying to catch his arm, but Ron was too quick. He stormed from the house and Disapparated without a backward glance.

That night was agony. Ron stayed awake all night long, not knowing which of Hermione's shallow breaths would be her last. Healers and nurses came in every now and then, checking on her—Ron would experience a tiny flame of hope before they would invariably leave the room with grave expressions on their faces.

Around dawn, Terry came in. He was very gentle with Hermione, casting his charms and checking her over thoroughly. When he had finished, he looked at Ron, who sat up tensely.

"I think you should have your children come in, Ron," he said quietly.

Ron had the sudden sensation that he had just been struck over the head with something very heavy. He blinked, reeling…Terry wanted him to summon Rose and Hugo…to say goodbye…

The door swung open suddenly. Ron whirled around. Alexandra Morris, though it was not her turn at guard duty for Hermione, was standing there, breathless and wild-eyed.

"Mr. Weasley! Mr. Weasley, I think you're going to want to hear this!"

"Morris, outside, now," Ron growled, standing up and backing her out of the room. He forced her against the wall. "What d'you mean by that? I could have you written up!" It was a lie, but he was angry and did not care. He would write up any of his trainees at this point for just about anything.

Morris, however, was inexplicably beaming. "We—"

"We had a confession, Ron." Harry was jogging down the hall. "Thanks, Morris, but I've got it from here. Back to the Ministry and fill out a report." She nodded and hurried away. Harry was pale white, but beaming in an exhausted sort of way.

"Who?" Ron asked. All of the air had left his lungs. He leaned against the wall, unable to stand.

Harry's smile faded. "It was Abner."

Ron frowned. "Who?"

"One of the house-elves that Neville and Hannah took on," Harry said.

"I…what?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out." Harry was now rummaging in his pocket. "Give me some time. You need this." He seized Ron's hand and slapped a small bottle into it. "It's the poison. He gave it to us, it was part of the confession."

Terry had appeared in the doorway. "Harry?" he asked, confused. "What's going on?"

Ron turned and held out the bottle full of crystal clear poison. "A-antidote," he stammered.

"It's the poison," said Harry.

Terry looked stunned and took the bottle from Ron. Then he seized the nearest nurse by the arm. "Imelda, get me a treatment room and the Poisons and Anti-Venoms team—_now_."


	8. Chapter 8

After Hermione was given the antidote, Ron didn't leave her side for two whole days. Minerva, Rose, and Hugo would come into the hospital now and then to see them, but Ron would send them away. Terry seemed confident that the antidote would work when he first administered it, but Ron could tell he was losing faith when Hermione failed to wake up after the first day, and he didn't want this to become obvious to anyone else.

He was taking a short walk down the corridor on the morning of the third day to stretch his legs when the ward doors swung open before him.

"Oh," said Harry, stopping and grinning at him. He held a bouquet of flowers and a book. "I was just coming to see how she's doing."

Ron gave him a halfhearted smile. "Okay." He jerked his head in the direction of Hermione's room. "This way."

"She looks a bit better," Harry said softly, standing at the end of her bed.

Ron shrugged. He was placing Harry's flowers in a vase. "She's all right," he mumbled.

"Did you see the _Prophet_ this morning?" Ron shook his head. "You're our staunch hero, once again. And Kingsley's never been so popular," Harry told him, reaching into his robes and producing a copy of the newspaper. "I should thank you. This is the most my name's been out of the paper in years."

Ron took it and folded the front page over to the article Harry pointed out. "'Remains unavailable for comment as he tends to Madam Weasley'…'Family has had to endure undue strain and trial at the hands of mismanagement in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and fearmongers in the public'…'The wizarding community remains hopeful that Madam Weasley's recovery will mean a full inquiry into her husband's maltreatment'…What a load of rubbish," he muttered, thrusting the paper back at Harry.

"The _Prophet_ exists to sell itself," Harry said, folding it up.

Ron frowned. "Where did you get that?"

"Rita Skeeter," Harry said, sounding disturbed with himself. "Years ago…"

He seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment. Then he went to Hermione's other side and laid a gentle hand on her arm. "We miss you," he said, so softly that Ron could pretend he did not hear.

This was just as well, for a large lump had risen in Ron's throat; he coughed and walked over to the blinded window, facing away from Harry. "What's going on with Abner?" he asked.

He heard Harry sigh. "I tell you, I don't know. He's completely distraught," he said. "The last two times I've tried to question him, he's just burst into tears."

"I'd be pretty upset, if I'd gotten caught," Ron said harshly. Then he softened. "D'you need me to come in and talk to him?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "You should be here."

Ron nodded, and turned to face Harry again. "When are you announcing we've made the arrest?"

"Tonight," Harry said. "We've got to give out his identity, or the hell we're getting now is never going to stop. You know Jenkins' desk caught fire this morning from three Howlers? Nothing but ash left. But—"

"But you're worried about what they're going to write about Hermione's bill when it gets out that a house elf tried to kill her," Ron said, swallowing hard.

Harry nodded, gazing down at Hermione's face. "She's worked all her career on this."

Another lump rose in Ron's throat. "Forget career," he said. He blinked rapidly and looked up at Harry, feeling tears prick his eyes. "Remember Winky?"

Harry's jaw clenched in a tight smile, and he looked up. There were tears in his eyes, too. "Spew," he said, giving a sniff.

Ron tipped his head back, smiling, but trying to keep his tears back. "That's right, spew," he said.

Harry gave a faint, choked laugh and drew a deep breath. "I, uh, I think I'll get back to the office and get ready for that press meeting," he said quietly.

Ron wiped his eyes with his sleeve as Harry walked to the door. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "Let me know if you need me to come in."

"I won't," said Harry.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Ron returned from the tearoom and sat down at Hermione's bedside. He glanced at the calendar pinned to the wall; it was the twenty-first of July. There were less than two months to Hermione's fiftieth birthday, he realized suddenly, though he had no idea what made him think of it.

Once, he had had a plan to throw her a huge party. It seemed unlikely that this would happen, now. He pushed away that thought and turned his attention back to Hermione.

She looked better, he thought hopefully, though he knew he was kidding himself. She was getting very thin, and her hand was beginning to feel bony when he held it. Her wedding ring was too loose; it spun easily on her finger. Ron knew he should remove it, in case it fell off, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Hermione," Ron said softly. "I'm back again." He chuckled. "You should be glad they're not serving you this tearoom stuff. It's awful." He swallowed hard. "Minerva says hello…she's worried sick about you…Rosie and Hugo are coming by tomorrow again…" he trailed off. Hermione couldn't hear him. Bitterness filled his mouth, and tears began to sting his eyes. Ron released Hermione's hand and grasped his own hands tightly, watching his knuckles turn white.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered in an anguished voice. "I took too long. I'm useless, I don't know anything, and—a house elf, Hermione, an elf! You've never done anything to them, you didn't deserve this. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"Mr. Weasley?" A nurse appeared in the doorway, a concerned look on her face. "Is everything all right?"

Ron stared at her, nonplussed. He looked at Hermione, and it dawned on him. Something had set off a monitoring charm on her bed. The nurse hurried over and picked up Hermione's other hand. Her eyebrows shot up into her dark fringe and she looked back at Ron.

"Can you wait outside, please?" she asked him urgently. "I need to get a Healer."

* * *

Ron paced back and forth impatiently at the nurse's station, watching the ward's double doors. He looked down the hall, to the room where Hermione lay. Suddenly, the ward doors flew open, and Harry and Ginny came flying through.

"Ron, what is it?" Harry demanded. "Is she all right?"

Ginny clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh, _Ron._"

Ron was beaming as he hugged her tightly. "Come on."

He led them down the hall, not to the room where Hermione had been lying for days, but to a different private room, full of afternoon sunlight. Hermione, frail and tired, but smiling, sat up slightly in the bed, supported by many pillows and covered with a heap of blankets. Minerva stood in the corner near the window, watching Hugo and Rose, who sat in chairs around her bed.

Ron looked at Harry and Ginny, who had frozen on the doorstep. Harry seemed to be fighting not to cry, but Ginny rushed to her side.

"Oh, Hermione," she said happily, taking her up in a gentle embrace that Hermione returned feebly, beaming. Harry swallowed hard, and Ron threw an arm around his neck, bringing him into the room. Hermione smiled up at them.

"Sorry I scared you," she said in a very faint voice. She glanced at Minerva, whose eyes were rimmed with red.

"We knew you weren't going anywhere that easy," said Harry rather gruffly. Ron swallowed a lump in his throat and patted Harry's shoulder. Hermione laughed briefly, looking around at everyone. Her eyes rested on Hugo, and she winked.

"Not a chance."

* * *

It had been nearly a week since Hermione had woken up, and she was improving very, very slowly. Rose, Minerva, and Hugo took it in turns to stay with her during the day. Harry arranged for the Auror rotation to stay on duty, and Ron relieved them when he would come at night to stay with Hermione.

Ron and Harry were having yet another argument over what to say to Hermione about her attempted murder now that she was on the mend.

"I can't just tell her that kind of thing," Ron insisted. "She's just barely getting better."

"You've got to. Abner's trial begins _next week_, and she doesn't even know we've arrested him," Harry said. "You can't keep her away from the _Daily Prophet_ forever."

"I can try," Ron grumbled, though he knew Harry was right. "I'll tell her tonight."

"Tell her now," Harry advised. "Come on, I'll go with you."

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry and Ron both looked up. Alexandra Morris stood in Harry's doorway.

"I've got Abner—er—the house elf. He's asking to talk to you," she said.

"What?" Harry asked. "We can't speak to him, he's been arraigned."

"He says he's offering information, though," Alexandra said quickly. "That's different than interrogation."

"All right," Harry said, looking surprised. "Okay, let him in."

Alexandra nodded, hurrying out of the office, and returned moments later with Abner, who was still wearing his t-shirt, as well as a set of enchanted shackles about his wrists. Ron stood and walked behind Harry's desk, while Alexandra lifted Abner onto his abandoned chair. Then she hurried out, closing the door behind her.

Ron looked at the little elf, who was staring down at his hands. "Okay," he said. "You had something to say?"

Abner nodded.

"Go on, then," said Ron, trying to keep the snap from his voice.

"Abner understands why you is upset," Abner said softly. "Abner is sorry for everything. Abner understands how important Missus Wee-slee is."

"You don't make a whole lot of sense," Ron said coldly, leaning over the desk. Then, he thought of Hermione and felt guilty. "Look, if you're so sorry, why did you do it?"

"Is complicated, sir," said Abner.

"Abner," Harry interrupted, looking at Ron. "Why did you ask to come here? Why did you need to see us?"

Abner drew a shuddering breath, his eyes filling with tears. "Abner…Abner requests help."

"Help?" Ron asked. "Why?"

Abner suddenly drew himself up. "Abner will only talk to Missus Wee-slee," he said fiercely. "Abner asks for _her_ help."

"That's not possible," Ron told him. "You're not allowed anywhere near her."

"Sir has Abner's word he will not harm Missus Wee-slee," Abner said fervently. "Abner promises."

"Out of the question, Abner," Harry said. "You can ask us for whatever help you need, and we'll be happy to give it to you." He silenced Ron with a sharp look. "Or, you can wait for your trial."

Abner folded his arms tightly, scowling. "Abner has nothing to say to Mr. Harry Potter."

* * *

That night, when Ron arrived in the hospital, Rose was sitting up with Hermione, who looked half-asleep, though there was a book open in her lap.

"We wondered where you'd gotten to," said Rose.

Ron hugged her. "Got held up at work." He grinned at Hermione, who pulled off her glasses and smiled back.

"Well, I'll see you both later, then," said Rose, picking up her bag. "Keep it quiet!"

Ron shook his head and sat down beside Hermione, who was still watching him closely.

"Hey," he said. "How're you feeling?"

He supposed something about his voice must have betrayed what was on his mind, for Hermione frowned suddenly. "What happened?"

Ron sighed, closing his eyes. He took her hand. "I've got to tell you something," he said quietly.

Hermione nodded slowly. "All right," she said, taking a deep breath. "Go on."

"The reason you're…" he paused, smiling slightly. "The reason you're getting better is because we got a sample of the poison you were given." Hermione nodded. "Well, I didn't tell you that we got the sample from our suspect. Harry didn't find it at the Cauldron."

"You told me—" Hermione began.

"I know what I told you," Ron said. "And I'm sorry. I wanted to…break it to you…more easily."

Hermione's face drained of the little color it had. "Break what to me?"

"Our suspect—" Ron sighed, exasperated. "It looks like it was a house elf, Hermione."

Hermione looked faint. She closed her eyes, lying back, and pressed a hand against her stomach as though it pained her. Ron held her other hand tighter.

"We got a confession from him," Ron said.

Hermione shook her head. "Why?" she asked. "This doesn't make any sense. Why would an _elf_ poison me?"

"He works at the Leaky Cauldron," Ron said slowly. "Hannah hired him from a pure-blood family that didn't pass registration. It looks like he didn't want to be separated from them, and got upset."

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Hermione asked suddenly, lifting her head.

"What?"

"What's his name?" she asked seriously. "Ron, tell me his name."

"Why?" demanded Ron. "What does it matter?"

"Was it Abner?"


	9. Chapter 9

Harry, followed by a team of Aurors, burst through the ward doors. Ron hurried to meet him outside Hermione's room.

"Ron, what's happened?" Harry asked. "Is Hermione all right?"

"She's fine," he said hurriedly, "Did you bring Abner?"

Harry gestured behind him, to where Abner stood, still in his shackles, but looking unhurt and very surprised. Two Aurors stood beside him. "What's happened?" Harry asked again. Ron pulled him aside.

"Hermione knows him," he said in a low voice. "She remembers him, she handled the case herself, but she won't tell me anything more until she sees him."

"What?" Harry was visibly stunned.

"She took him from his house and got him the job at the Cauldron personally." Harry didn't react. "Don't you see, she knows him!"

"And why does that mean I needed to bring him here?" Harry asked, annoyed. "This is unsafe, and in any other case this would never, ever fly!"

"No, I know," Ron apologized. "I know, I'm sorry, but he really does need to talk to Hermione, and she needs to see him before she'll tell me what she's thinking. Please, Harry, it's important. He might tell her something that could explain it all—that's what she thinks, I know it!"

"All right," Harry said, nodding. "Okay, Abner," he said, adopting a kinder tone and kneeling before the elf. "You're getting what you asked for. You're about to talk to Mrs. Weasley. But no matter what happens, you're staying right next to me, all right? Your magic won't work on these chains."

Abner's face lit up as he nodded. "Abner may see Missus Wee-slee now?"

"Yes," Harry said, looking up at Ron. "Yes, come on. Thompson, Peakes. Stay out here, and wait for us to call you."

"Yes, sir," said Peakes, stepping back against the wall.

Ron led Abner into the hospital room, where Hermione was sitting up in bed. She whitened a little at the sight of Abner in shackles, but said nothing. Ron lifted him and placed him on an empty chair at the far end of the bed, and then joined Hermione, putting an arm protectively around her shoulders and closing his other hand tight around his wand. Harry stood directly behind the house elf, his own wand out.

"Stay calm," Ron mumbled to Hermione. She nodded and adjusted herself to lean against him, so that she could sit up properly.

"Abner, do you remember me?" she asked gently.

Abner nodded, looking as though he were on the verge of tears. Hermione's incapacitation seemed to have struck him quite hard. "Abner remembers Missus Wee-slee."

Hermione smiled. "When was the last time you saw me, Abner?"

"Abner…Abner is seeing Missus Wee-slee in the Leaky Cauldron," he said, looking down at his long, skinny hands. He sniffled.

"That's right, Abner," Hermione encouraged him. "I brought you to meet Hannah, didn't I?"

Abner shook his head. "Not the last time Abner saw Missus Wee-slee," he mumbled. "Abner is seeing Missus Wee-slee later…Abner hurt Missus Wee-slee. Abner is very sorry."

Hermione said nothing for a moment. Ron touched her shoulder.

"Did you really hurt me, Abner?" she asked. She leaned forward a bit, looking closely at him. "You seemed so happy when I introduced you to Hannah. You said you were excited to be free."

"Abner was," he whispered, as tears splashed down his shirt.

"Can I ask you why you told my friends you wanted to talk to me?" Hermione asked. "They said it seemed very important."

Abner took a shuddering breath. "Abner hurt Missus Wee-slee. For this he is very sorry," he said. "But Abner had a reason. Abner had to do it, Missus Wee-slee!" he clambered forward, nearly onto the bed.

"Hey!" Ron barked, and Hermione glared at him. Abner returned to the chair he had been standing on.

"Abner is in very big trouble if he does not do what he is told," he said.

Hermione stiffened, and she squeezed Ron's hand on her shoulder. "What have you been told, Abner?"

"Abner needs Missus Wee-slee," Abner said slowly. "But…Missus Wee-slee is bad witch!" he shrieked suddenly, loudly. He started towards Hermione, and Harry leapt forward, seizing his tiny arms.

"Wait!" Hermione cried, as Harry started to carry Abner away. "Wait!" With what must have been a horrible effort, Hermione launched herself forward, tears of both suffering and compassion in her eyes.

"Hermione!" Ron cried, catching her before she could fall from the bed.

"Missus Wee-slee took Abner away! Missus Wee-slee is bad witch!" Abner yelled, scrabbling with long, vicious fingers from Harry's arms for Hermione.

Before Hermione could protest again, Ron had seated himself on the bed and pulled her close, and Harry had carried Abner from the room.

"You promised, Hermione!" said Ron angrily, holding her tight. "You're going to kill yourself!"

But Hermione said nothing as she sobbed; they could still hear Abner's angry shrieks as he was carried away.

"Okay, okay…it's all right," Ron said, his tone calming as he held her close, rubbing gentle circles on her back, until finally, Hermione quieted.

"Ron," she said faintly. "Ron, I need to lie down, please…please."

"All right," said Ron. Very gently, he helped Hermione lie back. "Do you need something? A potion? Or—"

"No," Hermione said vehemently, though she had wrapped her arms around herself; she seemed to be in terrible pain. "Ron, what have I done? What have I done to that poor elf?"

"Poor elf?" Ron demanded. "Hermione, he poisoned you! He's a murderer—You told me you thought he was going to tell you something new if I brought him here, and I did, and now look!"

"Mrs. Weasley?" A nurse had come hurrying into the room. She immediately began checking Hermione over.

"He was," Hermione insisted, growing agitated. "He _was_, he wanted to say something, but he got scared. Ron, help him, please! He's not himself, something is wrong with him!"

"There are a few things wrong with him," Ron snarled.

"Mr. Weasley!" said the nurse. "Leave us alone for a moment. Mrs. Weasley, please try to calm down."

A sudden thought seemed to strike Hermione. "No, wait—oh, _Ron!_ Ron, I know! I know the answer," she said desperately. "Ron, in my desk, the file is in there! Just look at it," she begged. "Everything you need is there!"

"Mr. Weasley," said the nurse sharply, and Ron hurriedly left the room, Hermione's words ringing in his ears.

* * *

Ron knocked sharply on the door of the old house, the papers he had found in Hermione's desk clenched in his shaking hand. No one answered. He knocked again, more loudly.

"Aurors, open up!" he barked. He pounded on the door again, and after another moment, it opened.

"Can I help you?" asked Emily. She was not in her nurse's clothing, but her pajamas. "Ms. Crouch was just going to bed."

"I need to speak to her," Ron said angrily. He held up the crumpled papers. "Now."

Emily shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not possible. She's not well tonight."

"Now," Ron repeated, stepping closer. Emily blanched and stepped back, allowing him to enter the house. She showed him up the dark staircase to an enormous bedroom. Wilma Crouch sat in the bed, affronted by the intrusion. She certainly looked as though she was fatally ill; her face was almost skeletal, and she was visibly much worse than when Ron had last seen her.

"Mr. Weasley," she rasped. "What do you want? It is very late."

"What was the name of your house elf?" Ron demanded, as Emily hurried about the room, lighting the lamps with her wand.

"His name?" Ms. Crouch asked, smiling bemusedly. "I don't see why that matters. You are here without cause, Mr. Weasley, and I will have you reported for this."

"I've got my paperwork, don't worry about that," Ron said coldly. "I've also got the entire Auror office waiting for me to call on them."

Ms. Crouch blanched.

"Don't go anywhere, you!" Ron said suddenly, flicking his wand. The door slammed, preventing Emily from leaving; she raised her wand, but Ron Disarmed her and caught it, training his own wand on both of the women. "Abner was your elf, wasn't he?" He held up the papers in his fist.

"Abner," Ms. Crouch said slowly. "That does sound familiar. I do hope he isn't in any trouble. He was such a devoted elf."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "It's been you all along, hasn't it?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Ms. Crouch said, still smiling, though there was something cold about the look in her eyes, now.

"Hermione freed him from you, and you decided to take revenge, to ruin her career any way you could. You planned for Hermione to be poisoned, and made Abner carry it out, so he'd be caught," Ron continued, his wand still raised. "No one would want house elves freed if the first thing they did was turn on the people who were good to them…"

"How very interesting," Ms. Crouch said coolly. She looked at her nurse. "Emily, kindly have Mr. Weasley escorted out."

"No one's going _anywhere_!" Ron shouted. "Don't move!"

Ms. Crouch glared at him. "Very well, Mr. Weasley. Carry on."

"Abner—Abner did poison Hermione, didn't he?" Ron asked.

"If the creature claims responsibility, I see no reason to doubt it," Ms. Crouch snapped.

"But then we found you, because Hermione had taken the information out of your file," Ron cut her off. "And you got scared. You didn't know how we found you. And then, when I was set free, you told Abner he had to keep trying, didn't you? So he confessed, and begged to see her…but why? Why would he do what you said, if he wanted to get away from you?"

There was a pounding noise coming from downstairs; it appeared that Harry had found his message and followed him here. Emily was looking increasingly panicked.

"There are the Aurors, Ms. Crouch," Ron said. "They know everything I do. You might as well come clean."

"I've nothing to confess, Mr. Weasley," Ms. Crouch said icily. "If my former house elf poisoned your wife, then I am terribly sorry to hear it, but it seems that if he or anyone else is trying to blame it on me, you'll have a very difficult time proving it—"

"_Accio!_" Ron shouted, and Wilma Crouch's wand flew from beneath her pillow, where she had been in the process of retrieving it. He caught it deftly. "That's attempted assault," he told her. "You may as well come clean now, and maybe you'll get a fairer trial than you deserve…"

"There are more!"

Ron stared at Emily, who had burst into tears.

"There are two more elves!" she cried desperately. "They're Abner's family! She's been keeping them locked up, and she promised that if he killed Hermione Weasley, she would set them free!"

"You stupid girl!" Ms. Crouch shrieked, apoplectic with rage.

And at that precise moment, Harry burst into the room, his wand drawn. "Wilma Crouch, by order of the Ministry of Magic, you are under arrest for conspiracy to murder," he said loudly. Behind him stood Abner the house elf, trembling all over, but starting to smile broadly.

* * *

"'_Aurors have nothing to report on the status of the elf in question, but sources indicate that Madam Hermione Weasley, currently recovering in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, has expressed no wish to press charges against the elf. Due to a medical condition, Madam Crouch remains under house arrest as she awaits trial for conspiracy to murder. Trials begin as early as next week—_'"

"What's this, catching up on your press clippings?" Ron asked, coming in Hermione's hospital room.

Minerva folded up the newspaper, smiling at him. "Good afternoon," she said, as Ron bent and hugged her. He grinned at Hermione, who was sitting up in bed against a stack of pillows. She held out one hand, which Ron took.

"Is Abner settled in?" she asked.

"He's glad to be back at the Cauldron and with his family," Ron said. "We straightened everything out, and Hannah's got a brand-new team of workers."

"Thank you," Hermione said. "Minerva and I have just been talking. She's going to stay with us for a little while, if that's all right with you."

"Oh, Minerva, you don't have to do that," Ron said.

"Nonsense," said Minerva briskly, standing up. "I've been meaning to visit for ages, and when could be better? I can be useful, at the very least." She patted Hermione's hand. "I'll get myself a cup of tea."

Hermione smiled as she left. Ron seated himself, taking her hand.

"See," she said, adjusting herself on the bed and then wincing in pain, "This way you don't have to worry about me while you're working, and poor Hugo and Rosie can have a day or two off for their own lives."

Ron smiled slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Really?"

Hermione let out a slow breath. "You mean how does it feel to know there's someone out there who wants me dead?" she asked. Ron said nothing. Hermione lifted her chin. "I'm just glad it's not a house elf," she said firmly.

Ron stared at her. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I'll be all right," she promised. "I will, Ron, so long as I've got you all—you, Rosie, and Hugo—that makes it much better." She patted his hand, indicating that the subject was closed, for now. "That reminds me, Rosie visited this morning. She brought Scorpius with her."

"We can talk about_ that_ later," Ron interrupted hastily. Hermione rolled her eyes, but patted his arm.

"I can't believe I forgot to file that one piece of paperwork," she said, shaking her head. "And it led to all of this."

"Er, speaking of your files, Hermione…you might want to have a word with your staff. I don't know who you had on your team, but they can't organize anything," Ron told her.

Hermione's eyes lit with mischievous laughter. "Really?" she asked in a tone of great interest. "But…I put Carlotta Revere in charge of filing." She sighed. "How very unfortunate that she wasn't up to the task. I'll have to make a note in her employee record. Actually, I wonder if I could fire her for poor secretarial skills." She looked suddenly at Ron, batting her lashes. "Dearest, I need an employee handbook."

Ron laughed.


	10. Chapter 10

19 September

Hermione tugged her favorite dark green robes straight, frowning slightly as she sat up atop the blankets on hers and Ron's bed. None of her robes seemed to fit her properly anymore, even after almost two months of recuperation. No matter, she thought. It was really just nice that she was no longer required to remain in bed; her daily walks (usually just from her bed to an armchair, though she had made it out to the garden once or twice) were like little beacons that signaled her returning independence. She leaned over and reached for her glasses on the bedside table, feeling a sudden pain in her middle.

She sighed and leaned back against her pillows, gently pressing a hand to her stomach. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. When it had, she began to drum her fingers impatiently against the mattress.

"Ron," she called sweetly. "Are you ready?"

"All right, all right," Ron said, coming out of the bathroom. Hermione smiled at him. He held up a bottle of the pain potion Terry had provided for her. "Just take this and we can go."

"I'm fine, Ron, really," Hermione told him, sitting up and moving her legs over the edge of the bed. At the sudden movement, however, she felt another stabbing pain, turned very white, and closed her eyes.

"Okay, just take a deep breath," said Ron, coming to sit next to her. He gently placed a hand on her back, reaching with the other for the water glass on her bedside table. He added several drops of the violet potion to the water and handed it to Hermione, who drank it gratefully. After a few moments of calm breathing, she opened her eyes again and smiled at him.

Ron rubbed her back gently. "Better?"

"Can we go?" asked Hermione excitedly.

He chuckled. "I don't know what you're talking about, we're not going anywhere," he answered, helping her stand. Hermione took a moment to steady herself and then leaned on Ron to get downstairs to the living room.

"Where are Minerva and—Hugo and Rose?" Hermione asked, looking around in confusion.

"They went ahead," Ron said. "Don't worry."

Hermione smiled a bit, smoothing her robes again. "Do I look all right?" She pressed her hands to her cheeks. "I feel so silly, but I don't want to look like I'm at death's door or anything."

"Hermione," Ron said, with a knowing smile. "Come on. You know they're just going to be happy to see you." She bit her lip. "And you look beautiful." Hermione smiled and allowed him to lead her into the fireplace.

"_Incendio_," he said, flicking his wand, and the flames roared to life. Just as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder, she kissed his cheek. Ron smiled. "What was that for?" he asked.

"Everything," Hermione told him. "I love you."

Ron stared at her for a moment. "I love you, too," he said. "Happy birthday." He flung the Floo powder onto the fire, which turned emerald green. They stepped into the flames together and Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"The Burrow!" Ron called. When they finally stopped spinning, Hermione felt very dizzy and clung to Ron for a moment with her eyes shut so that she would not fall over. When she opened them again, Ron was grinning at her.

She smiled back, following his gaze out of the fireplace.

"Happy birthday!" Molly cried, beaming. Arthur stood with his arm around her, his grin infectious. Behind them were all of Hermione's brothers- and sisters-in-law, who echoed Molly's cheer.

Hermione smiled widely at all of them, stepping forward to hug Molly. Everyone gathered round, giving her warm embraces and birthday wishes. In the midst of this, however, Hermione became aware that Rose and Hugo were nowhere to be found, nor were their cousins. Even Teddy and Victoire were missing. She looked over her shoulder, frowning at Ron, but before she could ask, she was overwhelmed with attention.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," Bill said, giving her a kiss.

"Bon anniversaire, ma petite," said Fleur, embracing her tightly.

George and Ginny gave Hermione hugs, and then Molly was at her side, supporting her. Hermione glanced around, wondering where Ron had suddenly disappeared to, but then she was distracted by more hugs from Percy, Audrey, and Angelina.

Finally, she kissed Charlie's cheek and began to feel the need to sit down. Molly guided Hermione to her own rocker by the sofa, where she sank down gratefully as Molly tucked a pillow behind her back.

"Where are the kids?" Hermione tried to ask, but everyone was talking loudly over her, and didn't seem to hear.

"No, Hermione, not there," Angelina called from the doorway that led to the kitchen. Ginny hurried over to where she sat and nodded urgently. "Come sit outside!"

Hermione frowned, but allowed Ginny to help her get up.

"Are we eating outdoors?" she asked Molly, who beamed.

"It's so warm, and there are so many of us, we thought it might be nice," she said as they all made their way outside.

"Oh, you didn't need to set up a table and everything," Hermione said to Arthur, laughing. "I would've been happy in the—oh! Ginny? What's going on?" Ginny had covered Hermione's eyes with her hands, and she felt Harry supporting her out the back door.

Her cheeks flushed. "What have you all done?" she asked, squeezing Harry's arm.

"Surprise," Ginny said in her ear, lifting her hands away.

In the garden was an enormous pavilion filled with twinkling lights, and underneath it stood no fewer than ninety people. Hermione blinked. She saw Minerva, standing with Hannah and Neville. There were Parvati and Roger, Dean and Lavender, Kingsley and Hestia. It looked as though all of Dumbledore's Army, their children, and every remaining member of the Order of the Phoenix had arrived.

"What?" Hermione gasped, tears springing to her eyes as she placed a hand on her chest. She leaned against Harry, afraid she might faint, and he hugged her gently. Ron was disentangling himself from the huge crowd. He strode towards her, with Rose and Hugo behind him. Hermione's chin shook, and she began to laugh and cry all at the same time.

"What—what did you—how—?" she stammered.

Ron took her arms and pulled her close. "I couldn't keep them away if I tried," he said softly. "Everyone wanted to be here." Hermione, tears pouring down her face, threw her arms around him, and all the guests cheered. She looked back at them, her smile luminous.

"I want to see you all," Hermione told them, wiping her tears away, "but I think I need to sit down." There was a round of gentle laughter.

"And we planned for that," Ron said. He took her through the crowd of guests, his smile widening as Hermione held one hand over her mouth, beaming irrepressibly. Hestia touched her arm affectionately, and Terry nodded at her as he stood arm-in-arm with his wife.

As they entered, Hermione saw that the pavilion was filled with tables and chairs, enough for everyone to sit and have dinner. In the very middle sat a large, squashy white armchair that greatly resembled a throne, which Ron led Hermione to. She laughed and buried her head in his shoulder. He helped her sit down as everyone started to gather near Hermione, between tables, and near the open sides all around the pavilion.

Ginny produced a handkerchief, which Hermione accepted gratefully and wiped away her tears. Then she looked around at all her friends and family.

"What are you all doing here?" she asked incredulously.

"She _still_ doesn't like us!" George said from then entrance of the pavilion, throwing his hands up. Everyone laughed.

"An' Hemynee!" squealed a little voice. Hermione looked around and saw Remus, Teddy and Victoire's three-year-old son, wriggling free of his father's grasp and hurrying towards her. Ron caught him en route and laid him gently in Hermione's lap, where the little boy snuggled happily against her.

"Hi, sweetheart," Hermione said, giving him a kiss. "How are you, hm?"

"Good," Remus said, grinning widely. "Are you suh-pised?" he asked.

"I'm very surprised!" Hermione assured him. Remus cuddled even closer. Ron saw Hermione wince, and quickly scooped him up, much to the boy's delight.

"Er, can I have everyone's attention, please?"

Hermione looked over to where Harry stood, not far from her. He held a glass of champagne. Molly, Lucy, Albus, Hugo, and Alice (who was much less bashful around Ron and Hermione now that she and Hugo were happily dating) were all handing the flutes out among the guests while Scorpius, Fred, Roxanne, James and Rose followed, pouring champagne.

"So, surprise, Hermione," Harry said. Everyone laughed. Hermione slipped her hand into Ron's as he sat down on the arm of her seat. Harry faced the guests. "You're all here because you're people who are incredibly important to Hermione, and because she's important to you. I can honestly say that I know of several people here tonight, myself included, who wouldn't be alive without her. And I don't just mean my niece and nephew." Harry lifted his glass in her direction, meeting her eyes, and the guests copied him. Hermione felt fresh tears forming, and Ron squeezed her shoulder.

"Hermione is one of the best, truest friends I've ever known," Harry continued. "Not only is she singularly talented and impossibly intelligent, she's kind, a wonderful mother to Rose and Hugo, and a brilliant wife to Ron. Hermione, you've given everyone here so much, tonight we want to give a little bit back to you. We're privileged to be your friends and family, and I'm pretty sure I speak for everyone here when I say: don't ever scare us like that again." Everyone laughed, and Hermione wiped her eyes with Ginny's handkerchief again. Harry raised his glass and faced her, smiling. "Happy birthday, Hermione. We love you."

Hermione looked around at all the people she loved, who were raising their own glasses and drinking to her name, still crying. She leaned on Ron and got to her feet, taking his champagne glass from him and lifting it.

"I love you all, too," Hermione said. "More than anything in the world. And I hope I'll always be here with you, because you're the most wonderful people I've ever known. Thank you for everything you've done for me for all these years."

There was a rumbling swell of applause. Hermione blinked back tears, unable to stop smiling. She returned Ron's champagne glass and sank down into her seat again, taking tight hold of his hand.

* * *

"Oh, goodness—here, just get me up—thank you, Ron."

"Watch your step."

Hermione's eyes fluttered a little…she knew those voices. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione, dear, I'm leaving," said Minerva's voice from a million miles away.

Hermione started awake. She was in Arthur's armchair in the sitting room. "Oh…I'll write to you," she promised. "I'll try to visit for your birthday."

"You'll get well first," Minerva said firmly, embracing her. "I'll manage well enough on my own if I know you're taking care of yourself." Hermione nodded. "Good. I'll just say my goodbyes to your parents, Ron." And she was gone.

Hermione sighed, wincing a bit, and folded her hands over her stomach.

"Time to call it a night, you reckon?" Ron asked. He was watching her closely from where he sat on the hearth before her chair.

"Has everyone gone?" she mumbled, her heavy eyelids sliding shut again.

"Everyone," Ron promised. "Mum and Dad are tidying up in the kitchen. It's just us."

"I didn't get to dance with you," Hermione murmured. After dinner had been served, an enormous silver dance floor had taken the place of the tables and chairs, and music had filled the tent. Hermione, however, had had to stay seated.

Now, Ron laughed as he stood. "You're not really in fit dancing shape," he reminded her, and she shrugged, sitting up.

"All right," she said, opening her eyes at last. "Let's go home." Ron helped her stand and led her to the fireplace.

"Mum? Dad, we're leaving," he called.

Molly and Arthur came into the living room. "Good night, you two," said Arthur, embracing Hermione and kissing the top of her head.

"Thank you for everything," Hermione said. She hugged Molly. "I love you both."

"Oh, we love you too, dear," said Molly, sounding a little choked. She patted Hermione's cheek. "Get some rest, all right?"

Hermione nodded, and she and Ron stepped into the fireplace. In a whoosh, they arrived safely back in their own living room.

"Oh," she said suddenly, holding a hand to her forehead.

"Hermione?" Ron asked. "What's wrong?"

"Dizzy," she mumbled, closing her eyes.

"D'you need to sit down?"

She felt Ron guiding her to a chair.

"No, no," she said, still not opening her eyes. "Fresh air…let's go out in the garden…I need air…"

"All right," said Ron worriedly. Keeping a tight hold on her, he led the way out into their small garden, where there was a stone bench beneath a tree.

"Perfect," Hermione sighed as they sat down. She leaned her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath, opening her eyes at last.

"You all right?" Ron asked, concerned. She nodded, taking his hand.

"Look at the moon," she said softly. "It's beautiful."

Ron laughed. "Are you going Trelawney on me?"

Hermione grinned. "I'm not mad yet," she said.

"Not yet," Ron agreed, squeezing her hand. "Happy birthday, Hermione." He was fumbling in his pocket. "Close your eyes," he told her. She did, and felt Ron pull her right arm forward, pushing back her sleeve. She heard a tiny snap and felt something close around her wrist. "Okay, look."

Hermione opened her eyes. On her wrist was a silver bangle with a small sapphire set into its clasp. There was engraving in miniscule script beneath the gem.

HJW

30/3/29

She frowned. "The thirtieth of March?" she asked, confused for a moment. Then it hit her. She looked up at Ron, a lump filling her throat. "The day my bill passed."

Ron nodded, taking her hands. "Except for…for when you had Rosie and Hugo, Hermione…I don't think I've ever been so proud of you."

Hermione's tears spilled over, and she pulled Ron into a tight hug, burying her face in his shoulder. Still sniffing, she sat up again. "I didn't get to dance with you," she said. Ron frowned. Bracing herself just for a moment on his shoulder, Hermione got determinedly to her feet and walked a few paces away. She turned and held out one hand, beaming at him.

Ron grinned and stood. He took her in his arms and swayed gently back and forth on the spot, and Hermione clasped her hands around his neck. They rotated slowly, staring into each other's eyes, for a full minute before they finally slowed to a stop.

"You didn't feel faint, did you?" Ron asked quietly.

"No," Hermione admitted. She kissed him softly.

He grinned. "You know, you're all right, even if you are too old for me."

"And vastly more mature," she told him seriously.

"Vastly," Ron mumbled, as Hermione stifled him with another, much more impassioned kiss.

* * *

Thanks for coming along for the ride, everybody. :) Love you.

You know me, I can't resist this kind of fluff.

Lucy


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